The Dursleys in Devonshire
by Efendi
Summary: AU The Dursleys moved to Ottery St. Catchpole and Harry met Ron and Hermione before Hogwarts. The misadventures of the "dream team" in a universe where Harry learned he was a wizard before his 11th birthday. Rated T for safety and language. HP/GW RW/HG
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **In this universe, the Weasley family attends Muggle primary school before Hogwarts (I figured it might be difficult to attend Hogwarts without being able to write basic English). The Grangers are dentists in Ottery St. Catchpole. Devonshire still has tin mining (to ensure no one asks me why I'm talking about Dartmoor at least 60 years after the end of operations). Canon relationships will be generally what I go for, especially the odd relationship between Ron and Hermione. I like HP/GW a lot, so be forewarned. Also...don't expect anything odd, especially involving good Draco, non-canon homosexuality, and serious departure from the canon. Of course I'll have to change it around somewhat.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe. Needless to say, if I did the books would be markedly different (especially the 6th). J. K. Rowling is the owner of the Harry Potter Universe, something which we can all be thankful for since if anyone was foolish enough to leave it in my hands the later books would be about twice as long.

The sun was setting on Privet Drive when the door of Number 4 Privet Drive when the door opened and slammed in the way that signified the arrival of Vernon Dursley.

Harry was, of course, performing his traditional role at dinnertime, cooking for the Dursley family. He would get what was left after Dudley had worked his way through it, which meant nearly nothing. He fried the pork chops in a very high-fat sauce, recognizing that his cousin's appetite would mean the leftovers would be scarce even so. The fatty sauce was as much to sate his widening relatives as well as to ensure that what scraps he got kept him alive.

Vernon Dursley's step was much more airy than usual. Harry turned when his massive uncle entered, sniffing the air.

"Pork chops, then?" he asked, careful to keep any praise out of his voice. The kitchen smelled delicious and Dudley, drooling, looked like he might eat his chair. "Hurry up, boy. I have an announcement but I want to make it while eating!"

Harry didn't say anything. He was used to this sort of treatment. For nearly eight years, he had been the charge of his aunt and uncles. As soon as he could see over the stove, he was frying eggs for breakfast and making Dudley's lunch. His own was generally composed of cold leftovers that he had not eaten the night before.

Watching the meat darken into a uniform light tan-pink, Harry recalled something interesting that had happened to him earlier this week. Having experienced his relative's treatment of anything he said, especially after the "flying motorbike" incident, he did not think it would be good to say anything. He kept the event firmly in his memory.

As he moved the steaming pork chops onto a plate and added it to the casserole, applesauce, Vernon Dursley's ale, and other side dishes he had spent the better part of an hour slaving over, Harry thought about how strange Tuesday had been.

_Dudley, of course, made every day hell, especially at lunchtime. It was no surprise that after the lunch Harry made for him, which generally had enough fat to sustain a herd of elephants, Dudley was still hungry. He tended to go for other kids when he wanted more to eat, but Harry was an easy target when he didn't want to go through too much effort. Tuesday was just such a day. Having ensured at least some leftovers by making his relatives several courses worth of food, Harry had managed to save half of a grilled ham-and-cheese melt. Such a treasure, though cold and burnt (Dudley had refused to eat it the night before), was a rare treat. He had nearly gotten it to his mouth when a chubby hand pushed him down and Dudley plus friends were upon him._

_Having spent the next minute demonstrating with his body how to be kicked around by snotty little shits, he sat alone, bruised and hungry. Dudley was eating the cold sandwich without any of the disgust he had shown the night before. _

_He had wanted something to eat badly. Very badly. The sandwich would have made up for several days without more than some fatty scraps. Already skin and bones, he had been afraid to mention that he wasn't fed enough. However, his teachers noticed how little energy he had. It was only a matter of time before they asked and he'd be punished for telling them. He watched the ground as his stomach growled painfully.  
_

_Suddenly, there it was. He blinked. It was still there...he must be hallucinating. He couldn't explain how it had appeared. Somehow a bag of crisps had appeared by his feet. Not wanting to attract any attention (the crisps were unopened and one of Dudley's favourite brands), he quickly consumed the contents bag, savouring the opportunity to have something that hadn't been first handed to Dudley.  
_

_How had the bag appeared? It was almost like magic.  
_

Harry's reverie was broken by Vernon Dursley's voice rising to an imperious height, evidently intended to travel out the window and alert the neighbours to something. Harry, sitting out of sight, raised himself up to watch.

"I've received a promotion!" he boomed merrily. Petunia screamed. Dudley looked bored. "Yes, yes. Well, the company wants to expand into Devonshire, sell drills to the Dartmoor blokes, you know. I've been promoted to regional manager." He seemed to shake in his seat.

"The only downside," he said with the same merry tone, "is that we'll have to move. The new office is in a village called Ottery St. Catchpole. Nice place. Home prices are very cheap! We can buy a big house… " He tailed off, watching Dudley

Dudley looked livid at the idea of moving. Harry knew why. His corpulent cousin had worked extremely hard to establish himself at the local school and in the neighbourhood. To move meant being in an insecure position. While Dudley might have the experience and size, he still had a physical disadvantage if a bigger and less fat boy came in. "But Daddy, I don't want to move!" he bawled.

Petunia put her had on Dudley's pudgy upper arm. "I know you don't want to leave all your little friends, Dudders, but you can make new ones! We'll have a bigger house and plenty of money…" Dudley did not look convinced, nor did the idea of befriending people even seem to have crossed his mind. Harry could tell he was thinking about something because he looked like he might lay an egg, but what exactly that was eluded him.

Vernon smiled and announced in a tone that denoted finality, "It's settled then! It's too bad Dudley won't finish his education, but at least he can go to Smeltings…it did such good for me…I'm sure we can find a good school for him in Devon before his seventh year."

Petunia lost her giddy expression. "What about Him?" she asked, casting a glance to where Harry waited. "We have to bring him along, don't we? He said we have to keep him until he's 17."

"Sounds like it." Vernon said grumpily. "At least school for him will be cheap."

Harry felt a combination of elation and worry. On one hand, he knew that this was an incredible opportunity for him, being able to go to a new school whose students had not yet been bullied into avoiding him. On the other hand, he was not sure whether his life would improve at all, especially if they moved out of Privet Drive and it's atmosphere of gossip. Certainly there was no telling what the Dursleys might do if they didn't have to worry about keeping a good reputation.

Harry barely noticed the import in his aunt's question. He was too busy thinking about the possibility of having friends.

**End Chapter 1**

**A/N: **_I won't say I'm not going to publish the next chapter if I don't get reviews, but I very much appreciate them. It certainly will help motivate me. Even if you hate it, I'd love your opinion. Just don't expect me to change it for one person. –Efendi_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'm not familiar with the British education system, so forgive me if I messed something up. Also, if you notice something wrong, especially with the years when people went to Hogwarts, feel free to tell me. I hope my Hermione seems realistic enough. I imagined that if Hermione was annoying to Ron then, when he had matured a little bit, she must be positively terrible when he's younger.

**Disclaimer: **I already said this earlier. Not mine in any form.. Consider this disclaimer to apply to any future chapters, because I don't feel like doing another one for the next chapter.

**Chapter 2**

The ancient alarm clock screeched at the top of its nonexistent lungs. It had once been Charlie Weasley's, and enchanted to yell at the owner until they woke up. For this reason, it had accumulated significant damage, first from its original owner and then from the twins, who had disembowelled it. That it still worked was a miracle that only Ron's father's obsession could have wrought. The parts in it were mostly replacements, and the wheezy voice that yelled tended to cough a lot.

Ron's fist flew at it as he slumped in his lumpy bed. The clock jumped back, yelling at him. He utilized one of the words Fred and George had taught him and told him never to say in front of his mother. It admonished him for his tongue. He had no choice but to get up, it seemed.

Pulling himself up as if he were caught in a vat of Zonko's Every Surface Glue, he disentangled himself from the violently orange bed and stepped with his cold feet onto the rough floor of his room, which was of course also violently orange. His hair and freckles were a similar shade, which made it difficult to see where the nine-year-old began and the walls ended.

The door burst open and his mother swept into the room. "Ron! Come on, get dressed!"

Ron and his little sister Ginny were at present the only people in the Burrow besides his mother. His older brothers Charlie and Percy had returned to Hogwarts, and the twins had gone for their first year. He had begun to show signs of magic, much to the delight of his parents. Fred and George, of course, would never let him forget that his first spell had turned a teapot into a toad. The porcelain toad, steaming liquid pouring out of its back, had hopped right on Ron, drenching him in steaming water.

Moving like an Inferi down the rickety stairs, Ron slumped into a chair. His mother had porridge set out, which he ate without his usual rapidity.

"What's wrong, dear?"

He looked up blearily. "School." Ron was in his fourth year at the local Muggle junior school. He hated Muggle school. It was all very confusing to him, and in his mind pretty pointless. His mother and father disagreed. "Wizards should learn to live with Muggles!" his father regularly exclaimed. Of course he believed this. He didn't have to deal with that obnoxious Hermione Granger.

Thinking of the bushy-haired Muggle girl who made his life a living hell, Ron sipped his porridge. She was so annoying! Always answering questions, always trying to tell him what to do! It didn't help that she hung around him constantly with her big teeth and words. It was very hard to not say Muggle all day.

The clock up on the wall caught his mother's eye. Both Ron and Ginny's hands had turned to "Time to Go". Sighing, Ron picked up his pack. He hadn't even noticed his little sister, sitting ready to go. She still liked school, and the teachers loved her. "_I bet she has no problem fitting in._" Ron thought in annoyance.

Molly Weasley pushed her two youngest children out the door and they walked down the hill to their school. Ron's Muggle clothing was torn and overlarge. It had been Fred's'…or maybe George's. Of course Ginny – perfect Ginevra – had her own clothing, even if some had been bought second-hand.

He tried to block out his sister's animated chatting about the boy who had become her favourite subject: Harry Potter. He couldn't quite remember when it had happened, but his sister had suddenly become fascinated by the Boy-who-Lived. Ron couldn't care less. Sure, Harry Potter was a hero, but he was just a kid. He was younger than Ron, apparently. They would be in the same year and he'd see if Harry Potter was all everyone – especially Ginny – said he was.

"Just a baby, Ron! Imagine that!" Ginny said for the millionth time. Ron grunted. They were close to the school now. Muggle children surrounded him. Cars zoomed by. It was all so terribly alien to him.

He trudged up the steps as Ginny ran off to talk to friends. He didn't have any. People thought he was weird with his dirty clothing and his strange house. The only person who paid any bit of attention to him was –

"Ronald!" he turned, scowling. She ran up to him with a book in hand. Hermione Granger, dressed warmly, with pale skin and bushy brown hair, was the only person who was not afraid to get near him. Obviously it had something to do with the fact that she didn't exactly make any friends either.

"What do you want, Hermione?" he asked. People were, as usual, ignoring them.

"I wanted to know if you did your maths homework. You know Ms. Rickey wants me to show you how to do division!"

Ron had of course not done his maths. He did not understand division or why he'd need it. He supposed Potion-making, but Fred and George hadn't done well in maths and they seemed, shockingly, to be doing quite well in potions. No one had known until they had left the Burrow and Mrs. Weasley had found the gunpowder. "I did them." He muttered.

Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione looked sternly at him. "Ronald," She said firmly, in a very good imitation of Ms. Rickey. "What are you going to do with your life? If you can't do basic maths you'll never do well in college or at university."

Ron, of course, did not intend to go to college or university…at least not in the Muggle sense. He did not say this, though, but Hermione noticed his expression. "I know your family doesn't have the money to send you to university, but you could get a scholarship! Just because you're the youngest and your brothers got into a preparatory school doesn't mean you won't follow their footsteps!"

He had told Hermione that his brothers had been able to get into a preparatory secondary school. It was the standard line when it came to wizarding families' older children disappearing at the age of 11. Even the Muggle government believed Hogwarts was a preparatory school.

"Look, Hermione. Drop it, please." Ron begged. He wanted to go to Hogwarts right now so that he could get away from his infuriating girl. She took her responsibility, handed to her by Ms. Riley, very seriously. He wouldn't be surprised if she found out where he lived and broke into his house on the weekend to try to tutor him.

"I will not, Ronald!" she said, and seemed ready to continue when the bell rang. Ron slumped off, trying to lose her in the crowd of kids.

Ron had suffered through another day of torture. Hermione had bugged him whenever she could. However, she couldn't explain how Ron's maths homework had appeared, completed. Ron, of course, knew that he had accidently summoned hers. Having it at hand, he copied it down.

Ms. Riley gave Hermione an approving look, which made Hermione forget what she was talking about. Ron regretted having pleased her almost immediately after, when she gave him a bone-crushing hug. Sighing, but not necessarily unhappy about having someone who wasn't his mother hug him like a friend, he watched the clock in the room.

A skinny boy whose clothes looked far too large for him was led in. Ron watched him, recalling for some reason Ginny's memorized description of what Harry Potter would look like. Black hair, green eyes. Looked like his father, who had glasses. A lightning-shaped scar on his head.

"Class, we have two new students." Ms. Riley said happily. "This is Dudley Dursley."

Ron's eyes turned to the second boy. He was very pudgy, with an expression of stupidity on his face. His blond hair was combed in such a way that Ron was reminded of his brother Percy. The boy looked like a spoiled prat. His name certainly matched his appearance. Ron's eyes turned back to the other boy, who looked at his feet as the class said as one: "Welcome Dudley." The pudgy boy was led to a chair slightly larger than all the others in the room.

Ron was busy looking at the other boy who had yet to be named. There was a noticeable red patch on the boy's forehead, just above the shockingly green eyes and in the midst of untidy black hair. The boy looked malnourished, but Ginny's avid voice kept echoing. Could this be…?

"-Harry Potter." Ms. Riley finished. Ron had not heard the first words nor did he notice anything after them. He stared at the boy in surprise. This was Harry Potter, the Boy-who-Lived? He didn't look like much. He was scrawny, pale, and shorter than most boys his age. He looked timid and introverted.

"Why don't you sit over by Hermione and Ron, at the back, Harry?" Ms. Riley said. Ron turned. Hermione was practically shaking with enthusiasm. Any opportunity to be a teachers pet, she would take it. Ron looked at the empty seat next to him and across from Hermione. It was the only open seat. He felt his stomach spin. He was going to sit next to Harry Potter. His sister would have killed for the opportunity. Certainly she'd be shocked to hear. She probably wouldn't believe him.

As the boy walked quietly to the seat, Ron thought about how to introduce himself. "Hi, I'm Ron. You're Harry Potter, the most famous boy in the wizarding world. Want to be friends?" seemed a little over the top.

The boy sat quietly in the seat next to him. He was very thin, Ron noted. Timidly, the boy turned to Ron. "Hi, I'm Harry." He said in a way that made Ron wonder if this boy had ever had a friend. Surely he knew who he was? Surely someone would have come up and befriended him at once? Was it possible he didn't know?

"Ron." Ron said, and after a second added, "Weasley."

Hermione bobbed over and stuck out a hand. "Hermione Granger. Nice to meet you, Harry, do you need any help?"

Ron noticed that the pudgy boy was watching Harry with a mixture of jealousy and stupidity. Ron guessed that Dudley was a bully by the way he seemed to radiate malice, even as a nine-year-old.

Harry shook Hermione's hand, bewildered. He looked like the idea of someone walking up to him and shaking his hand was entirely alien to him. Surely it couldn't be? "Nice to meet you too." He said, and after a second, asked Hermione what they were learning.

Ron almost groaned. Hermione Granger had stolen Harry Potter's attention. Now he would barely notice Ron Weasley.

"Ronald?" Hermione asked. "Harry was just asking you a question."

Ron turned, surprised. "What? Oh, sorry. What is it?"

Harry looked like what he was asking was very difficult. "Can-can you show me around at break?"

Ron was about to ask why Hermione couldn't do it, but remembered that this was Harry Potter. "Sure." Ron grinned. Harry smiled, an expression that seemed alien on his features.

Harry and Ron had discovered that they immediately liked each other. Both had a distinct aura of poverty around them, which did not endear them to their fellow students. They also found that they had very similar senses of humour.

It was through the recounting of a particularly funny story involving his older brothers and a box of fireworks that Ron got what he felt was proof that Harry Potter had no idea that he was famous and a wizard. Ron had accidently let slip the word Muggle. The quizzical expression Harry gave him was proof enough that Harry had never heard of the term.

"Sorry, but what's Muggle?" Harry asked.

"Oh, nothing, just a type of fireworks." Ron said, realizing it might not be safe to tell him. Certainly Harry would think him insane if Ron suddenly told him he was a wizard. Better to let some time pass.

At lunch, Ron discovered that his new friend had nothing to eat. He had suspected that Harry did not eat enough, but now he realized that he quite literally had nothing to eat. Ron glanced at Dudley, who it turned out was Harry's cousin. Dudley's lunch consisted of a massive sandwich. Harry noticed Ron's glance. "I made that." He mumbled, "but I didn't have enough time to make anything for myself."

Ron turned to look at Harry, surprise lighting up his face. "You made his lunch? Why doesn't his own mother make it?"

"They make me do it." Harry said quietly, watching Dudley. A rumble from his stomach betrayed how hungry the thin boy was. Ron looked down at his own meagre lunch, and handed Harry the other half of his sandwich without saying anything. He got the picture that Harry's life had been much harder than his own. Ron might be hungry now, but his mother would have plenty of food waiting for him at home.

"Your aunt and uncle…they don't like you?" Ron asked, trying to not betray shock. Surely Harry Potter, famous as he was, would have been sent to a loving household.

"You could say that." Harry said, ripping into the roast beef. "Usually I eat leftovers, but Dudley ate them all."

Ron looked over at the massive boy who had finished his sandwich. Already Dudley was trying to establish his dominance. Ron knew that this school had its fair share of bullies, and Dudley didn't want to be caught off-guard.

He turned back to Harry. "Look, why don't you walk home with me and my sister? My mum would be happy to make you something." Ron thought "happy" would be a bit of an understatement.

Harry didn't respond. He looked so incredibly happy. Ron smiled in embarrassment. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure having Ginny along with them would be a good idea. However, it was too late to retract it, and Ron didn't really want to disappoint Harry.

Hermione came over, having evidently spent most of lunch helping a teacher. She sat down. Ron looked at her lunch, which was significantly bigger than his, and packed in such an organized way that he was sure she had made it herself. The best part of Hermione, he realized, was that she was always willing to share some food.

"Hermione, Harry doesn't have a lunch. Can he have some of yours?" Ron asked. Hermione immediately passed Harry the majority of her lunchbox, leaving herself with an apple and a sandwich. She looked shocked.

"Harry, why don't you have a lunch?" she asked.

"Didn't have time to make it." He replied, before popping a grape into his mouth. "Thanks." He said.

Hermione turned to Ron. "Did you show Harry the whole school, Ronald?"

His expression of annoyance told her no. "Ronald! He needs to see the whole school!

Ron sighed in exasperation. "I didn't show him the janitors' closet or the garbage in the back or the girls' loo…but I showed him everything else! Right, Harry?"

Harry, too busy eating grapes like they would be snatched away from him, gave a thumbs up in lieu of an answer.

"See? Honestly, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him crossly, but said nothing.

**End of Chapter 2**

_Review, Review, Review! _

_Up Next: Harry faces the greatest challenge of his young life. It's red. It's obsessed. It might kill him with kindness._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I hope that clears up a little bit why Ron doesn't make friends easily. I'm not sure how I want Ginny to act. In this chapter she's naturally very flustered, but one of the things I like about her is how outgoing she can be. I'd love some opinions on this.

**Disclaimer: **See Chapters 1 and 2.

**Chapter 3**

Ginevra Weasley considered herself a fairly outgoing person. She liked to speak her mind and be independent. In contrast to Ron, who seemed content to brood around, she needed friendship to thrive. On second thought, he probably could use some too.

It hadn't been easy to make Muggle friends. She could never invite them to her house, nor could she talk to them about anything that truly interested her. Generally she went along with what they gossiped about, though it was hard to follow sometimes. She could see why Ron had such trouble making friends.

Ginny walked through the hall with her friends as school ended. They giggled about some television program she had never heard of. Ginny contented herself with imaging Him. She had begun to think about him in a new way. Not so much the innocent hero-worship any more. She was beginning to create a mental picture of a Harry Potter whose muscles and stature contrasted with his age. He was only a year older than her, but he could have been a fifteen-year-old in her mind.

As she left the building, she met up with Ron. Hermione had evidently stopped bothering him, because he was alone.

" 'Lo Gin." He greeted her, his voice sounding different. Happier. She caught onto that at once.

"What are you so happy about?" she teased, "Did Hermione tell you she'd give you a kiss if you got above a D in Maths?"

"No." Ron said, blushing severely. "I met a friend today. He's coming home with us for a snack."

Ginny's expression turned to surprise. She hissed, "You know you can't bring a Muggle to the Burrow."

"He's not a Muggle." Ron said simply, smiling in an infuriating way he had learned from Fred and George.

Ginny gave Ron a very Mrs. Weasley-like expression. He flinched. "What do you mean he's not a Muggle? Surely Mum and Dad would know if another wizarding family moved here. They haven't said anything."

"I didn't say he's got a family. He's just here. I know he's a wizard."

Ginny was going to hit him if he didn't start making sense. "How? Don't tell me you believed some little first grader when he told you he could do magic!"

"Nope. Just wait and see." Ron asked. She punched him.

"Ow! What was that for?" he asked. He saw the person who was evidently walking home with them. "Oh, over here!"

Ginny turned as a small boy, smaller than Ron, walked up. He had a look that told her that he was very surprised and pleased to be included in something. He looked at her with piercingly green eyes. She noted how bony he was, and unbidden, the image of Harry Potter came into her mind. She must be imagining things. After all, this couldn't be…

"Ginny, this is Harry. Harry Potter, meet my sister Ginny."

Harry. Potter. Ginny stared at Harry as he greeted her with a smile. He looked a little worried after a second. She hadn't said hello or anything. She just stared at the boy who was so different from her Harry. For no explainable reason, she felt several emotions at once.

She felt anger at this boy for destroying her image of him. This was just a timid-looking boy, undernourished and small. She was almost as tall as him. He was no knight in shining armour, but a little scrawny kid.

At the same time, she felt a medley of instincts that reminded of her mother. He was so thin! You could see his cheekbones and she imagined most of his ribs would be showing under that massive shirt!

The most confusing were the last emotions. She blushed to herself. This was still Harry Potter, the hero. Suddenly she felt a distinct urge to bake him something tasty.

She finally stopped staring at him long enough to say quietly, "Hi."

Harry gave her an odd look, confused as to why she seemed so interested in him. Ron exchanged a significant look with Ginny that told her to stop staring at Harry as if he was a zoo animal.

The awkwardness of the moment carried as they trudged up the hill to the Burrow. Harry saw it long before they reached it, sitting like a tower of junk reaching seemingly impossible heights. Ginny immediately felt embarrassed. The Burrow suddenly seemed like a very stupid place to live.

"This is where you live?" he asked quietly. Ron flushed.

"Yeah." There was a hint of apprehension, as if Ron wasn't sure how Harry would take the news.

"It's brilliant." Harry said. Ron breathed out in relief, turning a little pink. Ginny immediately changed her opinion of the Burrow. It was, as Harry said, brilliant. Obviously.

Blushing for no real reason, she followed her brother and his new very famous friend up to the house. She had come to the realization that Harry Potter had no idea he was a wizard. She wanted to tell him. Maybe he'd let her give him a hug if he did. Maybe he'd like her if she told him. Maybe he'd think she was even crazier than on first impressions. Her face began to hurt from blushing so much.

Ron entered the house first, stepping over some boots. Harry noticed the cauldrons and was staring at them. He didn't seem to know whether he was allowed in. Ron pulled him in after a second. Ginny followed suit, closing the door behind her.

Her mother evidently had heard the sound of the door closing. She called from the kitchen as she bustled out: "Ron, Ginny, I made some sandwiches! Have something to eat, dears, or you won't grow up big and stro-" she stopped when she was about two metres from them, looking at Ron. "Who is this?" she asked with a tone that Ginny seldom heard her use except on the twins.

Ron blushed. His mother grabbed him and brought him into another room, leaving Ginny and Harry standing together in the awkward silence. Thankfully, listening through the walls to her mother question Ron could distract her enough to ignore the boy next to her. Harry was staring intently at his feet. He was oblivious to the conversation going on. Even so, he heard the scream of surprise that came from Molly Weasley. He turned as Molly bustled into the room, smile hitched up further on her face. "Harry, dear, Ron's told me all about you. You're so thin! Here, sit down. Eat as much as you like!"

Mrs. Weasley seemed barely able to contain herself. She watched Harry intently, watching his face to see if he hated her cooking. Ginny didn't think that was the problem. The problem, she saw, was that Harry seemed a bit dazed by all the food around him. He looked like he had never seen so much.

Harry ate carefully, as if to ensure every edible part of his food was consumed. Yet for all his care, it seemed that Harry had an appetite to match Ron's. Ginny stared at him without really thinking about anything. He looked up and she glanced away quickly, managing miraculously to contain a blush.

A sound came from the next room. Muttering, her mother bustled upstairs. Ginny knew she was busy trying to make the house less magical for their guest. Ron's room, in particular, needed a thorough dulling of the violent orange posters. They'd need to be transfigured.

Having decided that watching Harry would not help anyone, she trudged upstairs. She nearly tripped on the first step, focused as she was on other things. She wanted him to like her. She needed him to like her. In her innocent mind, she had always imagined him walking her down the aisle. A little problematic, she imagined, if he thought she was crazy.

At about the fifth step, she decided. There was only one solution for this: She'd make him a cake. Passing over the fact that she did not know how to cook as easily as if she was brushing one of her red locks out of her face, she listened for the telltale sounds of the boys walking up to Ron's room. Ron was talking animatedly in the way he always did when he felt like what he had wasn't good enough.

Sneaking back downstairs, Ginny met her mother in the kitchen. She looked like she might explode with happiness and surprise. "Harry Potter. In my house!" she kept whispering until she noticed Ginny. "Ginevra!" Molly started. "What is it? I'm very busy!"

Ignoring the fact that her mother hadn't seemed to be doing anything at all, Ginny said quietly, "I was going to make Harry something." Red crept from her cheeks, alighting her face.

Her mother looked at her, startled by the name. Then she started bustling around. "Excellent idea, Ginny! The poor dear is so skinny!" Ginny watched as Mrs. Weasley began putting together ingredients.

Her mother turned to Ginny, looking harassed. "Everyone likes treacle tart…right?" Ginny only nodded, not knowing what to say. As Ginny waited, her mother made a filling. The rich smell of cooking treacle and pastry crust soon wafted from the oven.

Harry and Ron moved down the stairs, drawn by the smell. Harry in particular had a glazed look on his face.

Her mother bustled over with yet more food. Ginny had no idea where it had come from. She put it on the table, inviting Ron and Harry to sit down. Ron immediately dug in, with Harry following suit. She kept telling Harry to eat more. By what must have been his fifth serving, he looked like the idea of more food might kill him.

"Harry, dear, you're so thin! You need to stay for dinner!"

Harry opened his mouth before she started mumbling about Ginny's father being thrilled to meet him. He said something that Molly did not seem to hear. She finally realized that he had responded to her invitation.

Looking sheepish, he repeated himself. "I'm sorry Mrs. Weasley, but my aunt and uncle need me home before dinner."

"Surely they wouldn't mind if someone else feeds you?" her mother asked.

Harry didn't immediately respond. "They wouldn't mind if someone else fed me, but they need me to feed them," he said quietly.

Molly Weasley looked like her heart might break. "Well, at least stay for some treacle tart, dear. Ginny, bring Harry a serving. It was your idea to make it for him."

Ginny blushed a colour that even Ron's Chudley Cannons posters couldn't match. She silently moved over to the warm pastry and cut a large slice. Barely able to keep it on the plate, hands shaking so much, she brought it over to Harry.

"I just thought…seeing as R-ron doesn't make a lot of friends…that I'd make you something for…"she broke off, face hot as the inside of her mother's oven. She put the plate down in front of him to avoid dropping it and walked very quickly to her seat.

Harry looked at the tart and at Ginny, expressionless. Slowly, his face assumed one of those looks of delighted surprise at being included and liked. "T-thank you," he said to the Weasleys. "I've…I've never had anyone make me anything…" he seemed just as unsure of his words as Ginny had been.

Her mother burst into sobs. Ginny was blushing so much that her face was burning.

Ron sounded confused. "Wait…what about birthdays?" he asked.

"The Dursleys had me make cakes for Dudley, but they wouldn't let me have any of it." Harry replied in that quiet tone that was associated with talking about conditions at his relatives'. "They didn't remember mine. "

No one said much after that. Finally, Harry finished the treacle tart and exclaimed it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Her mother looked like she might die of happiness. Her turned to Ginny, vibrant green eyes meeting hers. "Thank you so much, Ginny."

Unable to stay still, her face feeling like it might be burnt off by the intensity of the heat erupting from it, Ginny mumbled something incomprehensible and ran upstairs, hurling herself onto her bed. She watched Harry receive a hug from a very flustered-looking Mrs. Weasley. Ron walked with the small raven-haired boy down the hill back to the Dursleys'. Harry turned around and saw her staring at him. She jumped in shock and ducked down below her window. When she looked up again, the boys were gone.

Sighing, Ginny Weasley turned away.

**End of Chapter 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Harry and Ron trudged back to the Dursleys' without really speaking. Harry knew he would need to get back quickly to avoid punishment for dinner being late. He knew the Dursleys probably hadn't noticed he was gone; if they had, they probably were hoping he had been taken off their hands.

Finally, Harry spoke up just as they entered the neighbourhood where the Dursleys had bought a house. Ron seemed hesitant to enter, as if he was somehow forbidden. Harry could empathize: the neighbourhood was another Privet Drive, though the houses were bigger.

"Ron…why did Ginny and your mum seem so surprised to see me?" Harry asked, voicing the question that had been eating him all day. He had no experience to back it up, but he could tell his experience was abnormal.

Ron hesitated in such a way that Harry thought he might not be telling the whole truth. "Well, you see…I haven't really had a friend over before. They just hope you'll stay my friend, I guess."

Harry pressed Ron a little more, hoping to get a more distinct answer than that. "Why did your mum look so odd when she saw me? Sure one of your brothers or Ginny has had people over?."

Ron shook his head, but seemed unwilling to elaborate on why his family, which seemed perfectly nice, eschewed company.

Harry, knowing that Ron was keeping something from him, pressed on cautiously, "Ok…so why did your sister stare at me for a full half a minute before saying anything?"

"Dunno mate. She's weird like that." Ron answered in a tone that made it evident he didn't want to be questioned. Deciding he could press Hermione for details, Harry decided to stop for the present. It was excellent timing, as they reached the Dursley's house, which was identical to its neighbours. Harry found it not in the least bit surprising that this house was Number 4 on Hedge Lane. Dudley had enough trouble finding Number 4 in Privet Drive, so his parents had made sure the address was similar enough to sink in.

He said a hasty goodbye to Ron and opened the door quietly. The sound of a television was coming from the TV Room, where the massive outline of his uncle, staring at a football game, was just visible over the even larger couch. His cousin Dudley could be heard eating next to him. Where Aunt Petunia was, he wasn't sure. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, looking around. No Petunia. Setting down his things, he started to work on dinner. It was early enough that perhaps the Dursleys wouldn't notice that he'd been-

"Boy!" his Aunt squealed, "Where have you been? You didn't come home with Dudley, so where were you?"

Harry, who had jumped at the sound, turned slowly. She seemed to detect that he had been fed well, because she stepped forward accusingly.

"Have you been causing trouble?" she asked. "Stealing food, are you?"

Harry decided honesty was best. "No, Aunt Petunia. I went to a friend's house after school. I made sure to get back before six."

Petunia looked taken aback, and then angry. "A likely story…whose house?"

Harry told her about the Burrow and the Weasleys. She seemed if anything more annoyed after hearing about how strange it was. "I don't want you going over there again."

Careful not to anger her more, Harry pointed out to her that he wouldn't need to have dinner if he went to the Weasleys'. This seemed to suffice for her, seeing as she regularly complained about the "expense" of feeding him. All the same, she made him work extra hard on dinner that night.

Harry's next few weeks continued in roughly the same pattern as his first day. Mrs. Weasley seemed very happy to invite him over. She had Ron bring him a packed lunch, something that made the Dursleys very pleased, as it meant they didn't have to worry about feeding him then either.

The only downside of Harry's new life was that Dudley seemed if anything more violent. He had not been able to establish himself as the "Big D" at the school yet, and found Harry a much harder target now that Ron and Hermione backed him up.

Fed properly for the first time in his life, Harry felt far better than he had in years. Mrs. Weasley insisted he eat second helpings when he came to her house, remarking that despite the comparatively immense lunch she provided him (he often shared it with Ron, whose appetite was still greater than his) he hadn't gotten big enough. Despite what she felt, it became apparent that having proper nutrition and enough food had made up for the lack of growth he had experienced while at Privet Drive. He was sure that a few more months, he would be as tall as Ron.

The only problem Harry saw in this routine was Ginny. The girl's behaviour had changed so much that before long Mrs. Weasley noticed it. She had stopped coming down and stayed in her room whenever he was around, though he occasionally saw a flash of red hair. Harry was sure that her sudden change had something to do with his presence, but he had no idea why. He was tempted to confront her about it, but wasn't entirely sure what she'd do. He certainly didn't want to make her worse.

Hermione, in contrast to what Ron seemed to think about her, was not annoying all the time. Harry, who understood the subject matter somewhat better than Ron, found that her points were quite valid. He still couldn't explain how, even after Hermione had refused to let Ron copy off her maths work, he seemed to have managed to improve without actually understanding the subject. Had Ron stolen her homework out from under her nose?

Harry was beginning to think that Ron was hiding something big from him. He found it odd, for example, that they never went into the back of the house, where the garden was, or that when Harry went over for the weekend (the Dursleys were very happy to be rid of him as long as he was back to make dinner) he never saw Ron's mother use any electronic devices to make them lunch. He was sure it was quite impossible to make half of what he was fed without a microwave or toaster oven.

The more Harry went to the Burrow, the more peculiar it appeared. The giant pots in the front had intrigued him since the first visit, but what was more, he least once that he saw the edge of a newspaper with the name "The Dai-". He wasn't sure if had imagined it, but he had seen the edge of a black and white photograph moving on the paper.

There was also Ron's room. Harry found the colour scheme very peculiar. It was bedecked in the livery of the Arsenal football club, complete with a bedspread with the cannon logo of the club, but Ron didn't seem very interested in football at all. In fact, Harry though, he didn't actually seem to know much about Arsenal at all. While Harry initially thought that perhaps Ron had inherited his room from an older brother, he was beginning to question this logic. He would have though that Ron would have taken down the posters, at least.

Despite his suspicions, Harry didn't question Ron about any of it. Instead, he asked others about Ron. He learned from Hermione that Ron had several older brothers, all of whom had gone to a preparatory school in Scotland on some sort of scholarship that the Weasley family received. Hermione seemed very concerned that Ron's poor performance would keep him from joining his family, but Ron brushed the question off.

After three months when Harry was the happiest he had ever remembered being, winter came. Ron was excited that his four older brothers – Charlie, who according to Ron was the captain of his school's rugby team; Percy, who Ron described as "a bit of a prat"; and the twins Fred and George, who Ron blamed regularly for the various sounds that the house made, in particular a strange moaning that Ron claimed was an after-effect of something they had done with the pipes – would be coming home from school. Harry was looking forward to meeting the other Weasleys as well, he had never met Mr. Weasley or Bill, the oldest, and had a feeling he might be able to solve the mystery that surrounded the Weasleys after meeting them all.

Mrs. Weasley, ever fussing and happy to have Harry around, had invited him for Christmas. She had invited Hermione as well, much to Ron's annoyance, but she was going with her parents to Switzerland. Harry, of course, was not invited to the Dursley's Christmas dinner, an occasion he had always looked forward to in lieu of presents. It was the only day of the year when he was always unbothered, because the Dursleys always went out for dinner after showering Dudley in gifts.

They would barely notice his absence as long as he made breakfast, and he would be able to enjoy the holidays with a family that cared about him. So, as holiday break came around, Harry endured the menial tasks he was given so that he was sure the Dursleys would have no reason to keep him from going to the Weasleys' for Christmas day.

It seemed to take forever for Christmas day to arrive. Pestered with so much work that he hadn't been able to the Weasleys, Harry was hungry and irascible. He had spent the better part of the last two days wrapping gifts for Dudley, whose parents had gone all out in order to placate their unhappy son. Before that, they had set him to decorating the fake Christmas tree while they sat around and watched television. By Christmas Eve, he was sore and hungry, with cuts on his hands from the sharp-edged plastic needles.

Dudley was irascible as ever, with the expectation of presents making him even more unpleasant that usual. His parents had allowed him to open several of the dozens of presents he was to be given, and already he had broken a picture frame from his Aunt Marge with a slingshot.

Harry, who was not allowed to be downstairs after dinner, stayed up in his tiny room, which was only slightly larger than his cupboard under the stairs. The room was a walk-in closet, with bars hanging overhead. There was no window, and the light was flickering. He hadn't wanted to anger his uncle by asking for a new bulb.

As Harry sat, stomach rumbling and light in the cupboard off to conserve the bulb, he wished he could be at the Weasleys', where he knew there would be an incredible dinner and a seat always open for him. He wouldn't even mind if he just had some Mrs. Weasley's delicious treacle tart.

He heard a sound like a thump on the window outside his room. He opened the closet carefully, and walked over, listening for the footsteps that would indicate his uncle had heard the sound as well. No sound came. He carefully opened the window and looked down. Ron was standing there, wrapped up warmly, and waved up at him. Harry waved back, wondering why his friend had come.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. He hoped Ron was here to take him away, but knew that he couldn't go.

"Mum felt bad that you had to spend Christmas Eve with the mugg- I mean with your aunt and uncle. She can't wait to see you tomorrow…but she figured they wouldn't feed you too well."

Harry's stomach grumbled in agreement. Ron pulled a tightly wrapped sack from his coat. He didn't look like he was sure how to get it to Harry. Finally, he stepped back two steps and lobbed it at Harry. For a second, it seemed like it wouldn't reach him. Harry willed it to come. And suddenly, almost if by magic, it flew towards his outstretched hands and he caught it.

"Bloody hell!" Ron laughed. Harry grinned. He knew Ron didn't dare say that in front of Mrs. Weasley. "Nice catch!"

"I can't believe I got it…I was sure it would fall short. I swear, when I realized, it shot towards me like I had a magnet or something!" Harry yelled back.

Ron smiled knowingly and then waved goodbye. "Sorry, mate, but I think the Muggles heard me. Gotta go!"

Sure enough, the sound of Vernon Dursley opening the door and spluttering as some snow hit him in the face came moments later. Quickly going back to his room, Harry hid the bag and tried to warm up. His uncle, apparently too busy cursing at the top of his lungs, didn't come up.

Harry waited a long time before deciding it was safe. He opened the bag and found that Mrs. Weasley had packed a whole serving of dinner in it. He would have questioned how the small bag could hold it all, but he was too interested in eating the still-warm turkey leg, roast potato, and slice of mince pie inside.

With the warmth and weight of the dinner inside him, Harry waited for sleep to take him. Tomorrow, he'd find out the truth about Ron's family.

**End of Chapter 4**

**A/N:**_ I'm going to run a little poll here based on responses from you. Whose perspective__ (Harry's/Ron's/Ginny's/Others')__ should Chapter 5 have? I should warn you that your decisions will have a significant bearing on future events. Just leave your answer in a review, if you'd be so kind. As always, I love any review, even if you hate my work._

_Up Next: Harry has his first real Christmas._

_But when you're the most famous kid in the Wizarding World, your life is full of surprises._


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Well, I've gotten three; maybe four votes for different characters (if you count SassyFrassKer's as one for Ginny). A little problematic, you can see, so I'm going to use Ginny's perspective. I think it's probably the most promising for this particular chapter. I would use Fred or Arthur's, but it might be hard to do this chapter with it. I'll consider it later – you'll certainly see others besides Ron, Ginny, and Harry in later chapters.

**Chapter 5**

Ginny woke up on Christmas Day shivering. The comforter on her bed was pushed back, leaving her exposed to the cold morning air that wafted from her window with only the flower-pattern sheets. She quickly pulled it up and moved around to get warmed up,

She remembered what her dream had been about. Cold seeped into her body even as she felt the warmth of the covers. He was coming over soon and she would have to see him all day. Her dream had been so good, but reality came crashing down to cover it up. It was that way with all dreams, but this one especially made her feel empty inside.

Having decided it was best to just endure it and not hide in her bed, Ginny climbed out. She shivered and closed the window tighter. Sliding her feet into the slippers, she walked downstairs, yawning. The tree was sitting out with the small number of presents – including the wrapped sweaters – unopened. Ginny looked around blearily. The clock on the wall (the one that actually told the time) reported that it was just after ten in the morning. The smell of her mother's cooking wafted in from the kitchen.

She slid into the kitchen and was immediately provided with a small mountain of food by Mrs. Weasley, who was alone. Her husband and boys had evidently not arisen yet, and Harry would be arriving later. Ginny turned just as the door opened and Harry Potter, dressed in some old and worn winter clothing of Dudley's, stepped inside, shivering.

The plate crashed to the floor, eggs flopping over the side. Ginny turned bright red and bolted from the room. She had not expected to see him this early. Sitting on the top of the stairs, she listened down. Mrs. Weasley was complaining about Ginny and Harry, wonderfully modest Harry, seemed to be helping clean up her mess.

Feeling a pit in her stomach, Ginny crept to the doorframe. Harry had been provided with a massive plate of food, and was recounting through mouthfuls how he had woken up and made breakfast for his relatives before being kicked out of the house so that "he wouldn't spoil Dudley's Christmas". Mrs. Weasley gave a small sound like she was hiccupping, which usually accompanied such recounting, and added an extra sausage to his plate.

"Tea, dear?" her mother asked. Ginny didn't comprehend for a second before realizing she was being addressed. Turning just as red as she had before, Ginny nodded. Mrs. Weasley placed the mug on the table to ensure it wouldn't fall, filling it with water. Ginny played with the spoon and with her biscuits, very adamantly not looking at Harry.

Finally, the sound of footsteps, like the beat of a drum, echoed through the house. Ron seemed to have gotten up, while the other boys were determined to miss half the day. He burst in, dressed in violently orange pyjamas with the cannonballs of his favourite Quidditch team emblazoned on it. Mrs. Weasley started at the sight, disappearing with her son with the excuse of "need to wash your face, Ron!"

Ginny looked back down as her mother quickly fixed Ron's clothes in the other room, and her brother walked in with maroon pyjamas with no insignia on them. Harry seemed not to have noticed, and talked animatedly to Ron, who looked flustered to see his friend so early. Ginny looked everywhere but Harry, but inevitably kept glancing at him. Her tea was well steeped by now and her mother bustled over with the milk. Harry looked over at her and immediately Ginny found the swirling yellow liquid in her mug very intriguing.

Her mother's voice broke her from her concentrated dunking of the biscuit. She was muttering about "those boys, going to miss breakfast!" as she moved around. Finally, evidently fed up with waiting for her sons and husband, she went upstairs to wake them.

Ginny looked to the special clock that had been transfigured in preparation for Harry's arrival. It was just about 6 A.M according to it, though she knew the clock was very off. It wasn't designed to tell time, after all.

"Happy Christmas."

Ginny looked up, startled. It had been a very low sound, but it had come from Harry. He smiled at her, looking a little unsure, but she gave him a weak smile framed by significant blushing. She realized they were quite alone – Ron had gone to sort out his presents without her knowing.

"Thanks," she said, blushing even more. "Mum was so excited to have you over."

Harry looked perplexed. "I don't understand why everyone is so excited that I'm around."

Ginny wanted to say, "because you're famous, and by the way you're a wizard." but found it hard to work it into a sentence that involved not telling him about it.

"Because she was so worried that the mu-your relatives wouldn't let you come to our house." It was a weak excuse, even if it was correct.

"I don't think so…" Harry mumbled, but he didn't press the issue. He did, however, ask the question Ginny had been dreading. "Why do you always blush when I'm around?"

It was only a murmur, but it came out all the same, "because you're famous."

He didn't seem to have heard her, and she couldn't repeat it even if she wanted to.

"What did you say?"

She blushed furiously. "I don't blush all the time you're around!" she said, a little too shrilly.

He seemed rather surprised, but smiled. "You're doing it now."

Ginny blushed even more, wishing she could just disappear. Ron reappeared just then. Ginny had never thought her brother was such a welcome sight until now. He ran up to Harry. "Oi, mate! Come on, presents!"

Harry exchanged one last glance with Ginny before getting up. She sat, stiff as a board. _I just talked to Harry Potter and didn't run away._ She wished she could just go back to sleep, but now that the entire family was at the Christmas tree, there was no way to break away.

Ginny slipped into the room, watching the scene at the tree. Her older brothers were all meeting Harry, though Fred and George were yawning and complaining about how hungry they were. Harry, when finally free of the firm handshakes and greetings, sat down with Ron and stared at the modest collection of presents.

"We got you something, Harry." Her mother's voice came from the back of the pack of tall redheads.

Harry turned around, looking quite as embarrassed as just about every Weasley had suddenly become. Ginny could understand their worry. This was, after all, Harry Potter. Even if he had no idea what that meant, it was natural to feel that they couldn't provide what a boy like him deserved.

"I've never gotten a real Christmas present before." He mumbled. It was one of those types of statements that Luna Lovegood, a wizarding girl in her class, was known for. If he had ever met Luna (she hoped not for his sanity's sake), she would have tough competition matching his habit of saying things that made everyone feel very awkward.

All the same, after another one of those hiccups from Mrs. Weasley, the whole family looked even more embarrassed. Harry was beaming as he received a Weasley jumper, but then said, "I didn't get any of you anything," looking down at the gift like he wasn't worthy of receiving it.

Molly Weasley cleared away the silence by saying, eyes streaming slightly, "It's fine dear, you being here is gift enough for all of us!" Ginny knew it was true; anything involving Harry Potter was worth more than he knew.

The rest of gift opening happened with the usual excitement that compensated for lack of quantity. All the Weasley boys received jumpers; Ginny received a scarf, as she "hadn't grown much since the last Christmas". Inside, Ginny knew that she had grown quite a bit, but that there hadn't been enough thread for a full jumper for her. All the same, it was a very warm article in the green colour that contrasted nicely with her face and a golden G on it. She also got new clothing, or so her mother claimed, though Ginny strongly suspected that her mother had transfigured something more magical, for her older brothers gave each other looks and one of Charlie's gifts gave out a puff of steam.

When the boys went outside to pick vegetables, Ron and Harry were sent up to Ron's room to avoid the possibility of him meeting a gnome. Ginny helped her mother in the kitchen as she made Christmas dinner.

"Mum…" Ginny asked carefully "why don't we just tell Harry the truth?"

Her mother looked up from the mashed potatoes she was stirring with her wand. Ginny was busy taking the pieces of the plate she had smashed and putting them together so it would be easy to fix when Arthur Weasley got back – he had been called out to deal with fake Christmas trees that rocketed off the ground when Muggles tried to take presents from them.

"Ginny, I sent an owl to Albus Dumbledore about it and how he's treated by his aunt and uncle. He told me that we shouldn't tell Harry yet; he's worried about what the Dursleys will do if they find out he knows anything. Harry can't leave the Dursleys house without the intention of coming back, apparently, so there's nothing to be done." She answered, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "It's not that hard to hide it, but I hope Dumbledore changes his mind."

"…I think Harry knows something is up." Ginny said quietly.

Her mother looked worried. "I was afraid he would. He's such a bright boy and he must find the way we act around him odd, even if we've done a good job of transfiguring everything."

She turned back to the immense bowl. Ginny didn't have anything else to say. She knew that Harry would find out eventually. It might be better just to tell him now. _And if he's going to find out…_she thought..._I'd like to be the one to tell him._

That afternoon, after several hours of work on Mrs. Weasley, Percy (who in contrast to his brothers was very happy to help), and Ginny's parts, dinner had finally been prepared. Having spent most of her afternoon watching the cranberry sauce and helping boil vegetables while her mother worked on the dessert and Percy helped with the turkey, she could finally enjoy the fruits of her labours. Well, as much as she could until one of her brothers got a hold of them.

The entire family plus Harry sat down at the table, which Ginny noted had been stretched. Harry had probably caught on to that, but at the moment he seemed too fidgety to think clearly. He was fixated on the mouth-watering array of foods, and also seemed scared that one of his relatives would burst in, demanding to know where he was and why he hadn't prepared their dinner. It seemed the Dursleys had made good on their plans to go out to eat, though, because when dinner finally started and Harry braved the mass of hands serving themselves and clearing four hours work in the same number of minutes, he looked like he had put it out of mind.

"So, Mr. Weasley, where do you work?" Harry asked in the middle of dinner, between a hushed conversation between Fred and George and their brother Charlie about Quidditch and a much louder one between Bill and Ron about primary school. Ginny knew he was both making conversation and looking for answers. Her father exchanged a glance across the table with her mother, and then answered.

"I work for the Home Office."

"What do you do?" Harry asked, having heard the hesitation.

Her father rubbed at the point on his nose that looked a little singed. "Oh, minor stuff. I make sure no one tampers with government property."

Harry nodded and turned to Bill. The oldest Weasley brother, tanned, looked uneasy as he turned from Ron. "What do you do, Bill?"

"Oh, I work in Egypt. I'm an archaeologist…we're looking in tombs for "cursed artefacts". He indicated the last bit with air quotes and a chuckle, though he sounded a little unsure of his lie.

Mrs. Weasley piped up. "Harry…I'm not sure if this is dinner conversation, but I was just wondering why you live with your Aunt and Uncle. What happened to your parents?"

Harry looked down sadly. "They died in a car crash when I was around one, or so my uncle says. My dad…he wasn't paying attention and they hit another driver."

The collective intake of breath had nothing to do with how sad the event was. Ginny heard Charlie mutter "died in a car crash?" a little too loudly.

Mrs. Weasley looked fretful. "I'm so sorry dear, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's fine." Harry said.

The rest of conversation seemed a little less vibrant. Harry talked about what kind of things Bill had found, and how the boys liked Hogwarts – the preparatory school that the Weasley family had a long history of going to. He didn't seem happy at the prospect of Ron going to school and leaving him in Ottery St. Catchpole.

Rather than being asked to help clean up, Harry and Ron were sent upstairs so that Bill, Charlie, and Ginny's parents could do the dishes with magic. Ginny had gone up to her room and brooded. It seemed so unfair that Harry had to believe his parents had died in such an undignified way. It fit what she had heard from him about the Dursleys, but all the same, it was wrong. She stared out her window at the chilly afternoon sky until a thought came upon her. _If he finds out and realizes that we've been lying to him, he'll hate us. But if we tell him and can explain it, he won't hate us, right?  
_

Without really giving it more thought that that, Ginny got up. She heard Ron's light footsteps moving towards the single bathroom on the third level of the house. She knew it was his – save for Harry, none of the brothers was as light as Ron. Her mother's footsteps were the loudest, followed by Charlie's, Her father's, Bill's, the Twin's, Ron's, and finally Harry's. She knew that she was barely audible when she walked unless she stepped on the creaky part of the step. She carefully avoided it. Climbing up to the topmost room, she crept inside.

Harry looked up in surprise. Ginny closed the door behind her.

"What's up?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Harry, I think you need to…you need to know the truth." she said, the familiar fear of talking to him creeping into her voice. "Promise you won't be mad at me…and please don't tell anyone I told you this."

Harry looked even more puzzled, but the glint of excitement was in his eyes.

"The reason we act so oddly around you is because…well…" Ginny fought to get the words out of her mouth.

"Yes?" Harry asked, bending closer, eagerness filling him.

"You're a wizard, Harry!" she blurted out, overcoming her fear. She swayed for a second as his face looked not only surprised but also crossed and had a hint of looking like he might start laughing and tell her she was being funny.

Before he could say anything, she bent forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Christmas." She murmured as she scampered out of the room. The door of Ron's room swung slowly shut as Harry sat on his bed looking absolutely bewildered.

She landed on her bed and began to regret everything. Except the kiss. As she touched her lips tentatively with a hand, he heard Ron's voice asking, "Harry, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

**End of Chapter 5**

_Dun dun dun. There it is. I wanted to get this over with quickly so that I didn't have to draw out the story with Harry trying to figure out what was up. Plus, now I get to use magic and have Harry find out the truth about himself. I would say that Ginny's present to Harry is a pretty good one. I hope all the Ginny fans out there can forgive me for continuing with obsessive Ginny's "quest to make him like me" a little longer, though I hope you guys liked the slightly more talkative and less crazy aspect in this chapter. _

_As always, I thrive on reviews! Good, bad, complete gibberish, I love them all! Don't hesitate to tell me my story is a piece of _ (insert scatological reference here) if you think it is, I don't mind (too much)._

**Coming up next**: Ron gives an early example of just how utterly terrible he is at telling people about anything that matters (*cough*Hermione*cough*) and Harry isn't sure that he can accept that he's some sort of celebrity. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he has no idea why.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Ron's mouth fell open and he stood, looking like a red-haired fish, staring at Harry.

"W-w-what did you ask me?" Ron asked when he had managed to get his lower lip back into line.

Harry felt bewildered and harassed and a little angry. "I asked you…What's a wizard?"

Ron began sweating profusely. Harry knew immediately that Ron really didn't want to answer him.

"Well, a wizard is one of those guys from Muggle books, right? You must have read them…Hermione goes on and on about them." Ron blushed guiltily. "You know, old blokes with robes and staffs and beards…"

Harry was not prone to the same sort of rages that marked his uncle, but he had his own way of showing his anger. He stood up. "Ron, don't lie to me. I know you're hiding something." He said coldly.

Ron was a terrible liar. Harry knew it, and so did Ron. Ron was fairly blunt with his emotions, though he could be repressive of them when he tried. It didn't look like Ron was in a fit state to do so at the moment, however. Harry's eyes met Ron's and they stared each other down, Ron's blue in Harry's green.

"Ok, fine!" Ron said angrily, having finally averted his eyes. "Maybe I am!"

"Well, what is it?" Harry asked impatiently.

"A wizard is a magical person." Ron said as he lounged against his way. "Someone who can do magic."

If Harry wanted a more textbook answer, even Hermione couldn't have matched Ron's. "I know that! You weren't exactly hiding that..." his mind raced. He realized Ron had said something interesting. An opening. "You said that it's someone who can do magic…you mean there are actual wizards?"

Begrudgingly, Ron nodded. He was playing with peeling piece of wallpaper.

"Are you one?" Harry asked.

"No." Ron answered gruffly. "Have to go to school to really be one."

Harry felt excitement brewing. He finally had at least one answer. "But you can do magic."

Ron nodded, looking very uncomfortable. "Nothing more than some accidental stuff."

"But your family are wizards…they do magic." Harry said. It wasn't entirely a question, but Ron nodded anyway.

"So you really know nothing about Arsenal and these posters are what…your cover?" Harry asked, looking at the walls.

"Not a bit about them. Chudley Cannons, though…" Ron said.

"Who are they?" Harry asked. Ron brightened and pulled out something from his dresser. It was a strange, vibrantly orange book. Harry blinked before realizing that the picture on the cover, of a laughing group of players holding what looked like…broomsticks, was moving.

"Mate, the Chudley Cannons are..." Ron didn't seem to have words. "Well, they've won the British and Irish Quidditch Leag-"

"The what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Quidditch, mate! It's like…imagine you've got a football field. Your team consists of seven players and they're all flying around on brooms, right? There are three hoops and one of the players guards them for each team."

Harry nodded. It sounded intriguing. A memory he didn't remember ever having before…of flying, came up. It was a bare fragment, like it had been from his earliest days of memory.

"Ok, so they've got this big ball like a football, right? It's bright red. It's called the Quaffle. Three players…they're called chasers…" he mumbled something about Gorgovitch and 'can't call him one'. "Anyway…they try to get the Quaffle into the hoops, which are guarded by this guy, the keeper. All the while, these two big players…usually blokes…they fly around with bats and guard the players against these nasty balls called Bludgers…look like cannonballs. They fly around and try to unseat people. So the-"

Harry interrupted again. "You say they fly around and hit people? Like they have a mind of their own?"

"Well, yeah! It's a wizard's game. They're supposed to go for the closest person to them. Anyway, the beaters, these big blokes I mentioned, they fly around and swing at the Bludger to make it go at the other team. All the while, this guy…" he tapped the player labelled 'Galvin Gudgeon' on the cover. " 'e looks for this little ball called the Snitch. It's gold and tiny and flies around, trying not to be seen. The game ends when a team grabs the Snitch…they get 150 points. Usually they win. Funny story about that, actually…there was a game…Cardiff vs. Oslo. They forgot to release the snitch and the game went on for a week…I think something like three stand-in seekers had to be brought in because the seekers had collapsed. Finally they realized what happened and released it…but by then the players were so tired that it took another day to find it. I think they fixed it so that in the event of an extremely long game, they can monitor where it is."

Harry had sat through this, utterly bewildered. Bludgers, Cardiff, Oslo…Gudgeon…Ron's lecture could put Hermione to shame. "Ok…I think I understand." He didn't.

"Well, anyway…" Ron said, "These are the Cannons. 21 wins in the league…"

"When'd they win last?" Harry asked. Ron's face fell.

"1892." Ron said sheepishly. "Understand, though…everyone says they're over, that Dorkins is an idiot...but I know they've got it in them!"

Harry noticed something written on the side of the cover photo. _Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best_. He decided not to ask about that.

Ron seemed to realize where he was after a few seconds of thought. Harry decided to ask him about some more things now that he was in a better mood.

"How many wizards are there in Britain?"

Ron seemed unsure. "Well, there are a bunch…Dad says there are something like a thousand students at Hogwarts at one time…so there must be at least that many wizarding families."

Harry noted the name of the school. "So Hogwarts…"

"Is a real place." Ron finished, and left it at that.

"And your dad…"

"He works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement...he makes sure Muggles don't hurt themselves if they come into contact with something that's got a spell on it.

"Sorry, what's a Muggle?"

"Oh, well, it's a non-magical person. Someone who can't do it and has no connection to magic…someone who doesn't know we exist."

Harry got up his courage before asking the next question. "Am I a Muggle?"

Ron nearly slipped off the bed, he laughed so much. "Bloody hell, Harry! Of course not! You think I'd be telling you this if you were?" He smiled. "Remember yesterday night? The bag? You summoned the thing to you, mate! Proof in my book that you're one of us!"

Harry felt an immense weight leave his chest. Even though Ginny had told him he was a wizard, he knew Ron didn't know that. It seemed a relief to hear it from someone who hadn't immediately given him a kiss on the cheek afterwards.

"Is Hermione a wizard?" Harry asked. Now that he thought of it, it was possible. Maybe Ron and Hermione kept to themselves because they were magic.

"No. She'd be a witch if she was." Ron said with a hint of sadness. "She's a Muggle."

"Can the kids of Muggles become wizards?" Harry asked. He felt a similar sadness; Hermione made up an essential part of their gang, even if she was rather annoying at times. Certainly without her Ron would be lost.

Ron looked up, "Oh, yeah, of course! Muggles just are people that don't live in the wizarding world. They can have wizard kids. Not common, though...you need to be related to a wizard to have any chance. Then there's all this stuff about the parentage…some people, even wizards, can't have wizarding kids. We call non-magical kids of wizards 'squibs'."

Harry thought about Dudley. If his mother was a witch, then that meant his aunt must have had the same ancestry. On the other hand, Dudley's father could be one of those people who couldn't have wizarding children. Harry would not be surprised if Uncle Vernon's DNA wouldn't allow it.

"So…why didn't you tell me this before?" Harry asked.

Ron looked distinctly uneasy. "I shouldn't be telling you this now…" he mumbled, but then continued. "I don't know. Mum told me on that first day that I was, under no circumstances, to tell you anything about this."

Harry's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe that kind, motherly Mrs. Weasley would think of keeping something this important from him. He was about to ask another question, one of the most important he could think of at the moment, but there was a call from downstairs.

"Harry, Ron, we're having dessert!" Ron jumped up, excited. His mother always waited to serve dessert until after cleaning up the mountain of dishes, because she "liked to feel like I can take a break".

Ron and Harry bustled downstairs. Ginny quietly entered the room, looking at the floor. Harry unconsciously touched the place where she had kissed him. He couldn't understand why she had done that.

Harry tried to pretend that he had not heard any of this, and worked his way through treacle tart, mince pies, chocolate pudding, and was on a slice of apple pie when his stomach rebelled and he couldn't eat any more.

Despite his attempts, the change in the atmosphere was palpable. Ron looked guilty, Ginny looked quiet and distant, and Harry kept looking at smiling, jovial Mrs. Weasley and wondering how she could have done this to him. And he still didn't know nearly enough about himself. In particular, why he was so important to not be told anything.

Finally, he couldn't repress the urge to say something.

Standing up, Harry cleared his throat. "So evidently I'm a wizard." He said to the table. Everyone turned and stared, except Ginny. Ron turned quite red. "Anyone plan on telling me this?" he asked, trying to keep anger out of his voice. He felt betrayed. He knew it was a little dramatic of him to storm out, but his legs moved before his mind did.

"Harry, wait!" Mrs. Weasley called out, looking shocked.

"Thank you for the dinner, but I have to be getting home. My aunt and uncle will be wondering where I am. I certainly wouldn't want to keep anything hidden from them, would I?"

He opened and pushed out the door, strolling down the lane. It was bitter cold and Aunt Petunia would chastise him for having lost the warm clothes she "had so lovingly provided him" from the things Dudley had grown too big to wear when he got back, but he didn't care. His Weasley sweater was up with his coat in the oddly shaped house on the hill, and he had no intention of going back any time soon.

**End of Chapter 6**

_Well, that was a fairly dramatic ending, if I say so myself. Maybe Harry's a tad young to be this angsty, but I think he might be justified in being angry for everyone lying to him. Don't worry, he won't get all self-destructive or anything._

_I'm sorry the chapter is a tad short, but I have commitments that make it impossible for me to finish up this little plot element in one day (and I would hate to mess up my little update pattern). Plus, I think it's better if it's a two-part affair, like the Deathly Hallows movie. That way, you guys get twice the content. _

_I've said this five times already, but I'm not going to stop now: Review, Review, Review! If it's a piece of (insert any four-five letter word you desire), I want to know! If I should burn my fingers off to stop me writing this (see above), I want to know! If you like it, well…keep it to yourself. (Just kidding) I'm not forcing you guys, but I definitely like to see feedback, since each chapter is written live now (I've run out of pre-written material)._

Up Next: Harry shows us his moody side that anyone who has read the later books knows and loves. It seems the only thing that can cure it is red hair, the truth, and having the crap beaten out of him by a girl.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Ginny had never been more happy to go back to school in her life. Even if it meant not being able to see her older brothers for another few months, the rigour and structure of school would distract from the coldness that seemed to have crept into the Weasley house.

She had only herself to blame. Harry could take some of it from others, but in truth, it had been her doing. No one had confronted her about it, too worked up with holidays and comforting her mother, who took the blame for hurting Harry on herself. If Ginny could blame Harry for something, and she very much wanted it, it was making her mother feel terrible.

As she trudged down the road behind Ron, who was nearly as down as his mother, especially since Harry was his best mate, Ginny dreaded seeing Harry at school.

Would he even acknowledge that she and Ron existed, or rather would she and her brother be ignored completely? She hated to think how Ron would react to that. Even worse, though, would be the reaction from Hermione, who of course could not be told.

Ginny failed to see Harry or his rotund cousin for the majority of the day. Finally, at the lunch hour, she noticed him sitting alone. He was focused very hard on the table, where he seemed to be without anything to eat.

_Good, let him suffer a little._ She thought, before realizing how harsh that was. She knew it would be fairly awkward for them both to have her appear at his table, so she said nothing. She did, however, get up from where she and her friends were sitting. The Muggle girls were chatting about some television program that Ginny didn't have a clue about, so she was not missed.

She moved over and sat at the fairly empty table with her brother and Hermione. She whispered in his ear: "Harry's all alone…you didn't do anything to him. Try and talk to him."

Ron turned, looking surprised. "What? No! He was a complete git! Let him come back when he wants to."

Hermione noticed them talking. Having no idea why Harry was suddenly giving Ron the cold shoulder, Ginny knew she was unsure what to say to Ron. "Look, Ron…I don't know what this is about, but Harry won't come around until you talk to him."

Ron looked like he was about to retort before the three of them noticed Luna Lovegood stroll over and sit across from Harry. Ginny made a face. Luna Lovegood was difficult to tolerate, even for wizarding folks. She certainly made no friends at school, and no one much wanted to be caught near her. Harry, evidently, had not realized this yet, because he simply continued to stare.

Luna slid an odd-coloured fruit over to Harry, whose eyebrows rose in surprise. _Don't eat it without asking._ Ginny thought. Harry asked her something, and Ginny watched his brow furrow as he was treated to an explanation of something Luna had no doubt heard from her father or his terrible conspiracy rag.

When the lunch period ended and it was back to classes, Ginny watched Harry rise. He trudged along, looking thinner than usual. As she thought about what she could do for him, Ginny moved to the third year classroom. There wasn't much, she knew, and that was the hardest part.

* * *

When school let out, Ginny abandoned her group of friends, resolving to catch Harry before he went out of sight. Ron gave her a look that she returned with one of her fierce, Mrs. Weasley-ish glances that sent him flinching.

She followed Harry as he walked towards the ugly cookie-cutter housing that had grown up to service the new industry in the area. He didn't seem to have noticed her until she was right upon him. Grabbing him by the arm, she pulled him off to the side. She was nearly his height, and he seemed visibly intimidated by her.

"Look, Harry. We need to talk." She said, firmly. Her hand relinquished its grasp and he rubbed the arm.

"No, we don't." he said with annoyance in his voice. "Thanks for telling me, but it was a little too late."

Ginny's hand slapped him across the face. Looking shocked, he turned back to her and stared.

"Harry! You're being a prat!" she yelled in a high-pitched voice. "Do you know how bad you made my mum feel? She can't stop crying! You've made us all feel terrible! We didn't want to, you know! We thought that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the thin and small and timid black-haired kid whose relatives hurt him so much deserved to know! I felt terrible for not telling you! Ron has been moping around for the last two weeks! He doesn't show it very well, but he's really broken up! You ruined my whole family's Christmas, you know that?"

She hadn't realized it, but she was hitting him. Despite their similarity in size, she had none of the strength of her brothers. All the same, Harry flinched as she stopped. He had taken the blows thus far, but she seemed ready to do it again. Instead, she sagged and fell forward a little. He caught her and steadied her.

His face was unreadable, but he winced slightly. She felt terrible all of a sudden, for hurting someone who had already been so badly damaged.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he whispered as he held her awkwardly. She didn't know what possessed her to sob. Finally, she got a grip on herself. She was not someone who cried or got emotional about everything. She was stronger than that.

"No, I'm sorry Harry…" she sniffed. "I shouldn't have hit you."

"Don't worry…I think it helped. I didn't realize how much your family would miss me…I was stupid."

She noticed how close he was to her. Quickly stepping back, she looked him full in the face. His right cheek was red from where her hand had hit it, but she noticed older wounds. "What happened to you?" she asked, and he looked confused. "You've got the end of a black eye…and you've got little cuts all over your cheek."

"It's nothing." He said in a dull tone. "Just fell."

Ginny put her hands on her hips. "Don't lie to me. What happened to you? Did your aunt and uncle hit you?"

"No…Dudley did." He mumbled. "He's been tormenting me all winter…he nearly blinded me with his stupid remote-controlled airplane…" he brushed the network of little cuts on his cheek. "And he hit me with a piece of ice last week."

Ginny looked at him for a long while. He was thinner than when she had last seen him a Christmas, and he had an unhealthy look to him.

"They didn't like having me home…they thought your family would get me off their hands for the winter…they locked me in my room for most of it, and when I was let out, Dudley got his hands on me." He said in a matter of fact tone that made it sound like he had experienced this kind of treatment often.

Ginny didn't know what to say. She knew that there was little that could be done, but still…

"I can't believe that anyone would do that to their own blood…especially you."

"Why is that?" he asked.

"Well, because you're special. For us, at least."

He looked a little irritated. "You keep saying that, but I don't know why! Maybe I'm a wizard, but still…I'm just Harry Potter."

Ginny said it quietly. It was a hard thing to say, considering she had anticipated a moment where he wasn't angry with her and covered in bruises and it was significantly warmer. "They call you the Boy-Who-Lived."

"The what?" he exclaimed, a little taken aback. "What did I do?"

"The Boy-Who-Lived…the boy who survived the most deadly curse of all…the Killing Curse…"

Harry's mouth fell open. Ginny was reminded of an expression Ron wore fairly often, albeit he didn't look as good while doing it. "You're famous, Harry. You're the most famous wizard in Britain." She said simply.

"w-w-w-What?" he stammered. The idea of fame had evidently never even crossed his mind. "I'm some sort of celebrity?"

"Yeah, you are!" Ginny exclaimed excitedly. "We all hear about it…you did something that a bunch of adults, the most powerful wizards in the world couldn't."

"What did I do?" Harry asked, sounding like he just been told Dudley was going on a diet. She wasn't sure whether he was thrilled or shocked. Probably both.

"You destroyed the most evil dark wizard of all time! We don't even say his name, he was so feared!" she cried, with the excitement that came with recounting this story. "You saved the entire wizarding world, Harry!" She grasped his hand without really thinking about it, and immediately regretted it.

He nearly collapsed, falling down in shock, his knees not up to the task of supporting a body that had just learned it was, contrary to its own expectations, pretty extraordinary. She came with him, ending up sprawled on top of him. Blushing furiously, she let go of his hand and hastily got up, brushing herself off. He just sat there, looking dumbfounded.

"Harry?" Ginny inquired after a second. He didn't seem to be moving. "You need to get up. Your aunt and uncle will be waiting for you, I think."

He stayed still. She bent down, crouching with her legs bent to observe him. His mouth hung open and he looked distant. His eyes seemed glossed over. She shook him. "Harry?" she asked, concern tinting her voice. "Harry?" Panic.

Then he blinked and came back to reality. "I saw something…terrible. It was in the house…it was coming towards me. I saw a great flash of light…a woman's scream, green light…and then it was standing over me."

Ginny stared at Harry as if he was speaking a foreign language. She didn't know quite what to say.

"I think you need to tell me how it happened." Harry said quietly. "Because I don't think my parents died in a car crash."

Ginny shook her head, recalling all she had read about it. "No…He came to your house…this evil wizard. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No one knows what happened next…only that you somehow survived his curse and destroyed him, but not before your parents were killed."

Harry unconsciously touched his scar. "How did I get this scar? They said I got it in the crash…but…"

Ginny looked at the famous scar. "I think…." She stated quietly, "I think I read somewhere that scars like that are caused by dark magic. Really dark magic."

Harry looked down sadly and didn't speak for a long while. Finally, with a nudge from Ginny, he got up.

"I'm sorry I was such a prat," he mumbled.

"Percy's worse."

"No, really. Tell your mum I'm sorry. I should have known that you'd want to wait until you really knew me to tell me this. Can I come to your house tomorrow?"

Ginny laughed. "Of course you can. Just wait until you see it without all those stupid Muggle things in it."

Harry smiled tightly. He was about to walk away, but turned back. "Thanks for telling me the truth." He gave her a hug.

She was still standing there as he walked away. She had just had a real, long conversation with Harry Potter. She hadn't blushed a bit. She couldn't believe it. He liked her. He liked her. He liked her!

**End of Chapter 7**

_Oh boy, Harry has no idea what he's getting himself into. Anywho, here's the second half of that little plot thing. We've pretty much filled in Harry on all he needs to know…but it's not over yet! We've still got a certain bushy-haired girl to deal with, not to mention Harry finding out more about the wizarding world…summer, and a bunch of other stuff. Needless to say, his fifth year will not be boring. Don't expect the Dursleys to just lie down when they find out he's going to Hogwarts._

_I think I've it enough that it should have sunk in by now, but I'll say it one last time: Reviews are welcomed no matter the opinions within. If you notice something wrong (thanks to __**tumbshie**__ for pointing out that I mixed up rugby and association football in the last chapter) feel free to point it out. _

Up Next: Harry finds out that hell hath no one nosier than Hermione Granger, Ginny finds it much easier to obsess over Harry when he's asking her about her favourite subject: Him, and the boys become very acquainted with exactly how long five months can take when you're mind-numbingly bored.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Hermione Granger nearly collapsed under the weight of her bag. It was her third this year – the first two had split on account of how much she had stuffed into them.

It was worth it, though. She told herself this every day. It was worth reading ahead. She had secondary school to prepare for after all, and though she had another few years of primary to work through, she would not enter it unprepared.

Hermione busied herself reciting the list of A-level difficulty words as she walked across the sleepy village of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was in her opinion a very poor place for someone like her to be. She wanted the opportunities of the city! She wanted to learn French and German at some city school rather than endure a second-rate education here.

Her parents, normally supportive, would have none of it. This was their life and they served the community. Hermione knew that having such qualified doctors was an opportunity a town like this would kill for, and one that paid handsomely, but all the same…London! Or even just Exeter or Plymouth! Anywhere but rural Devonshire! There was nothing here but water and grass…

And her friends. Hermione knew that she was lucky to have her friends, even if Ron was a bit of a prat and Harry had been avoiding them. When the Grangers had lived in London, before moving here…she hadn't had any friends. Not even in Nursery and Reception. The teachers had loved her, but her fellow students hadn't.

Even if she had misgivings about the possibility of her succeeding in her ambitions, she knew that she needed friendship. Beyond the warm feelings it gave her and the strange calmness that being a sort of mother hen to the two unruly boys, it was nice to know that someone wouldn't blow raspberries at you if you asked if they wanted help.

* * *

Hermione had reached the school. Brushing the dust off of her clothes – a uniform of sorts despite the fact that Ottery St. Catchpole's state school required none – she walked up the stairs into the building. The halls were warmer, but she couldn't help notice that they weren't heated properly. The school was so underfunded that they could only keep the rooms warm enough to not ice over completely. How was someone to get a first-rate education here? She frowned as she weaved her way expertly through the sea of students; most, like her friends, were a little shabby-looking. Ottery St. Catchpole was not known for its wealth, and the majority of wealthier students went off to residential schools if they could afford it. Her parents could – but she knew that it mattered little what education she received here, as long as it was enough to allow her success in secondary school.

Ron and Harry to her surprise were chatting amiably. She was delighted that they had solved this little problem quickly. They hushed up as Hermione approached. She smiled at them and they both looked at her, a little puzzled. "Good to see you two have made up, then?"

"Oh, yeah…" Harry said quietly. Hermione got the picture they were talking about something not for her ears. She felt a little affronted. This was the 1980s, after all! Women were rising in the workplace! She deserved to be treated the same as a man…or a boy.

She cocked her head. "Got something you want to share with me? Maybe why you spent most of yesterday not talking to each other?"

"Nah, we're good." Ron responded lazily, yawning.

"Oh, really? Harry, care to share why you didn't eat with us?" she asked, arms crossed.

He mumbled something. She cocked her head the other way. "What did you say?"

"It's none of your business." He murmured.

Looking cross, Hermione was about to press again when the bell for class began. Ron breathed out a sigh of apparent relief and grabbed Harry. "She's mental sometimes, she is."

Hermione took a second to enter the classroom – something she had never done before. She wasn't sure why…Ron was quite rude to her most of the time…yet she found his words more hurtful than usual. She heard a grunt of pain and barely stifled expletive and entered the classroom. Ron was grumbling darkly under his breath as he held his foot – a heavy book had fallen on it.

It was a coincidence, she told herself. Ron was clumsy. It wasn't anything unusual. Certainly she hadn't caused it by feeling like he had been really mean to her. Just because people who teased her tended to have nasty bumps and bruises or mysteriously lose their homework didn't mean anything. She flushed. _It was impossible. _

A nasty feeling crept into her mind at that moment, however. She hated these feelings. They were distracting and made her uneasy. She didn't like thinking she was different, or that there was something wrong with her. Certainly she wanted to show that she was different academically – in a good way – but she felt it might reflect badly on her if weird things happened wherever she went.

She of course told Ron nothing of this. He could not be trusted with anything secret. He'd either scoff at it or totally fail to keep it secret. Harry, on the other hand, was quiet enough to be trustworthy…but would he want to still be her friend if she was some freak whose emotions happened to coincide with things happening that couldn't be explained?

She couldn't tell him. He certainly had secrets – whatever Ron and Harry were not willing to say to her was one – and he would no doubt tell Ron or Ginny, who would tell Ron, and it would all be out.

Having gone through a heated inner debate, she was roused to her senses by a rather hard tap on the shoulder and a hiss from Ron.

" 'mione…you there?"

She blinked and flushed as she realized that the majority of the class was watching her.

"Ms. Granger, are you feeling alright?" Ms. Riley asked with considerable concern – seeing as Hermione had totally blanked out. She had never been unfocused before; to the contrary she was usually practically hopping up and down.

"Oh, um….yes, yes, Ms. Riley. I'm fine."

"Alright," Ms. Riley continued, unsure. "I was asking you to do attendance."

Hermione flushed to a colour that matched Ron's hair and stood up abruptly, banging her knees on her desk. She hurried over to the log after a quick count and looked at it. Her stomach dropped. The pen was moving, having scrawled out what needed to be written - in her handwriting. No. This couldn't be happening. She blinked. Still there.

Picking up the pen with considerable unease, she made to look like she was filling it out, quietly thankful the quiet scratching had not been heard. _Calm down…think. There is a rational explanation for this…isn't there?_

Her inner thoughts were unsure. She couldn't explain this any way she thought of it. Moving back to her seat, she tried to shove the unease down. She would focus on finding out why Ron and Harry were hiding something from her. _That would make it easier to ignore...I won't even give them a name. That will make it easier._

For the rest of class, Hermione became her normal self. She hopped up and down, and ignored the fact that Ms. Riley's head jerked sharply towards her hand every time she **really** knew the answer and wanted to say it, or that when Ron tried to make a grab at her Maths homework to copy it, it fluttered away from his hand. _Coincidences.

* * *

_

Eating lunch, Hermione noticed that Ginny Weasley, Ron's little sister, kept giving Harry looks. Hermione had no experience with detecting emotion, but she could tell that Ginny's expression was not a normal one for someone her age. Ginny was nearly nine, Hermione knew, but most nine-year-olds, herself included, did not have that particular quality in their eyes.

It was a fairly uncomfortable lunch. Hermione didn't seem able to think of anything but the thing-that-would-not-be-named. Harry and Ron didn't seem able to talk about whatever was crossing their minds. She suspected it had something to do with her – they seemed perfectly animated when she was absent – and felt even worse.

Ron's hand slid towards her lunch to snatch something from it…some crackers. She gave him a stern look that to her horror was combined with the lunch moving slightly. Ron's eyebrows rose in surprise and Hermione looked down, aghast. _He saw! He knows I did it!_

Harry had seen it too. He gave Ron a significant look as Hermione looked up tentatively.

She took that opportunity to get up and throw something away. As she turned, Ron grabbed the crackers and chewed on them. She returned just in time to hear him say: "the tray moved. I think sh-" before he hushed up immediately.

The rest of the day was exceedingly awkward. Hermione knew that she had blown any chance of hiding it. She needed to tell them the truth. The problem was that the boys seemed to be avoiding her. _They don't want to get near me. They think I'll do something terrible to them. I'm a freak!_

Having ended her school day very poorly, Hermione turned towards the village. She was about to trudge off when she realized that the Weasleys and Harry would be at the Burrow. What better place to confront them than together at their home?

Ignoring the fact that she didn't really know where Ron lived, she set off in the direction the three usually went. To her luck, they were so busy in conversation that they walked slowly and didn't notice her. Ginny hung close to Harry, as if a little protective, while Ron was moving his hands in a way Hermione didn't like.

She had no doubt that he was talking about her. They laughed. Ginny said something excitedly and the two boys nodded. _They're laughing at me._

The Weasleys' house was much farther from the school than Hermione's. It was on a hill a little ways out of town. She saw it over the sparse trees – a tower of sorts, built on a fairly small lot. It must have been four stories and made of all manner of wood.

She couldn't say it was particularly surprising to find out that Ron lived here. She edged closer. The three entered the house: Ron bustling in, Harry holding the door for Ginny, who even from a distance could be seen turning red in embarrassment.

She had no idea what to say to them: "I'm some sort of freak of nature who causes inexplicable things to happen when my emotions are on the fritz?" It seemed like that wouldn't endear them to her.

"I can't explain it, but things happen around me?" seemed a bit vague. Certainly not A-level material. _Who am I kidding? I'm going to be locked up. No A-levels for me._

She decided that the only course of action was to confront them and see what happened. She had forgotten up until this moment that her friends had their own secret that existed even before this one. What if they were in the middle of something odd or illegal? She knew that the Weasleys were an odd bunch.

Tentatively, Hermione crept out of the cover of a bush and walked up the lane. She imagined that someone was watching her – but the dirty windows made seeing anyone inside nearly impossible. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened. There was something, like a buzz of electricity, which made her uneasy.

She stepped up on the porch, passing by strange rusted metal objects that looked a bit like large pots. They did nothing to help her nerves.

She knocked. There was no sound of people rushing to open the door. In fact, if she wasn't mistaken, she heard someone say, "Make sure she doesn't come in!" _They don't want me in their house if something odd happens. Maybe Ron told his mum and she's worried I'll burn it down._

This thought only made her feel angry and betrayed. This couldn't be happening to her! IT WASN'T RIGHT! Her heart raced. She was supposed to go to a preparatory school and get good grades and ace her A-levels and go to a good university and be successful. Her mind stumbled as she thought this through so rapidly that she felt dizzy. She wasn't supposed to be making things happen that she couldn't explain or be scaring people into locking their doors.

She wanted to come in. She wanted to ask them to please not be afraid of her. She needed them. She wanted the door to open.

With a bang, the door was blasted open. _Oh no. Not now._

She stared at the sight of a plump, middle-aged woman with the same hair as Ron. She was holding a stick of wood high up in the air. Several pictures were floating, unsupported by anything, before crashing to the ground as she looked back into Hermione's eyes, fear in her features.

_There was a perfectly rational explanation for this, right?_

**End of Chapter 8**

_I'm sure I'm going to get some comments about Hermione in this chapter. I admit, she's a little OC, but I really felt like pre-Hogwarts Hermione is the kind of person whose whole life is school…and it's only after she meets Ron and Harry that this changes. I also thought that Hermione is a very empirical individual – she needs proof of something to believe in it (Remember Luna Lovegood?). We only meet her in the canon after she's basically been given this proof. Before it, who knows what she put accidental magic down to? I think that Hermione's so trusting of authority in her early years that she'd accept the traditional, scientific impossibility of magic until she gets real proof of its existence. Prepare to see Hermione grapple with the idea that her entire life might need to change…I'll just say that she doesn't exactly handle it well (this might be a bit of an understatement). _

_I've said the review thing enough times that you've probably got it memorized, so I'll skip that. However, I will give a shout out to several individuals who were so kind as to correct me. I'm haven't read the first two books in a while, so I got at least one thing about them wrong. So, __**stonegnome1**__, thanks for pointing that out about Smeltings; and I've already given a shout out to __**tumshie **__about Rugby__**. **__In response to __**CrzyWeirdoAwsme101**__, I would like to clarify that the crisps did not necessarily appear out of thin air, but were more likely summoned by Harry – he's done it several times in the story thus far. All the same, I apologize for it being unclear._

_Future Plans for this story – I plan on continuing this story up until when Harry, Ron, and Hermione enter Hogwarts. After that, it is less certain, though I think I'll have at least one mini-sequel, probably a one-shot from Harry's perspective. As for this story, I can promise at least 8 more chapters that I have a firm plot for. Stay tuned. ~ Efendi_

Coming Up Next: Harry finds that Ginny is a better teacher than any book when it comes to learning about himself, Ron believes Hermione is hiding something big about herself, and the Weasleys nearly break the record for fastest mugglefication of a dwelling under siege…nearly.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N I apologize for not updating yesterday, I was out of town on a day trip. I made this one a little longer to make up for it. _

**Chapter 9**

Harry sighed, trudging along behind Dudley. In truth, he could have outpaced the plump boy any day, but there was an unspoken rule that Harry should have to follow Dudley to school so as to not make the lumbering, straw-haired boy feel bad about his size. Harry doubted that Dudley felt bad at all about his weight – he was perfectly happy to pig out even when the school nurse warned him – but he knew that Dudley enjoyed the feeling of superiority. It made up somewhat, Harry knew, for the fact that Dudley had not been able to fill the niche of "chief bully" this year. It was a blow to Dudley's pride from which he would not recover easily – even if he had a whole summer to make up for it.

The fat boy pulled himself slowly up the steps, waddling towards the door. He did not open it, for Harry could see the beads of sweat that crossed his cousin's red brow. Harry moved up beside him and opened the door. Once, he would have been too frightened of the bigger boy's wrath to even think of it; now Harry was as tall as Dudley and much more fit. He didn't bother to keep the door open for Dudley but entered, letting it swing shut. Eventually, when Dudley had recovered from the exertion of the four stairs, he followed. By then, though, Harry was talking with Ron.

The initial meeting had been exceeding awkward. Harry had no ill feelings towards Ron, none that hadn't been eradicated after Ron had given Harry what he wanted to know, but Ron felt hurt that his best mate had stormed out of his house.

Even so, they were back to being friends within a quarter of an hour – long before Hermione showed up. Harry and Ron always were early – Harry because Dudley had to get up early to make sure he was in class on time and Ron because Ginny, who didn't seem to need to sleep, liked to get to school to talk to friends – but Hermione had to cross half the town. Harry had gotten Ron started in a hushed but excited conversation about the Chudley Cannons, who were doing slightly better, when Hermione showed up looking flustered.

Hermione cocked her head slightly as they hushed up, knowing she would nag them unendingly if she overheard anything odd. "Good to see you two have made up, then?" she asked, smiling.

"Oh, yeah…" Harry said distractedly. He realized that he hadn't even considered what he'd tell Hermione next summer, when he would be going to Hogwarts with Ron. He hadn't thought of it until he had seen her dressed in that overly prim and proper uniform she always had. _At least she's got an idea of what her future will be like._

Hermione's lip stuck out slightly as she gave a frown. "Got something you want to share with me?" Ron looked guilty and Harry a little worried. "Maybe why you spent most of yesterday not talking to each other?"

Ron pulled off a surprisingly impression of Fred and George as he yawned, covering up his blush as he said, "Nah, we're good."

Hermione turned to him and Harry, feeling that Ron had left him out to dry, scrambled for a response. "Oh, really?" she asked in the voice she saved for her scepticism. Ron flinched. "Harry, care to share why you didn't eat with us?"

Harry mumbled, "Because I was a git," but so quietly that she evidently hadn't heard him. She cocked her head in a way that made Harry wonder if it might fall off if held that way too long. He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

"What did you say?"

"It's none of your business." Harry muttered. He had just caught sight of his cousin lumbering through as if he owned the school.

Hermione looked cross and opened her mouth, only to be drowned out by the bell ringing. Ron sighed behind her and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him away from her. He murmured, "She's mental sometimes, she is." Harry gave a small smile.

"You know she's going to wonder why we're both going to the same school on the same scholarship, right?"

Ron would have responded if a heavy dictionary hadn't suddenly fallen from the shelf to resound off his worn trainers. He cursed fluently under his breath and looked around. They took a seat, Ron still grumbling darkly.

Hermione took her seat next to him. She had a peculiar look. He hoped she hadn't overheard what Ron said – having his friends arguing only twenty minutes after he had reconciled with them wasn't exactly his idea of a good day – but was unable to query her because their teacher swept into the room.

Harry zoned out as Ms. Riley went through the morning's business before calling on Hermione to do attendance. Harry was so used to the air around him quavering with Hermione's excited shifting that he had trouble figuring out why everything felt so still. He realized that Hermione was staring off into space, apparently in a world of her own.

Ron bent over to prod Hermione in the shoulder. She jumped. Ron hissed in her ear. Ms. Riley asked her if she was all right and Hermione blushed the same colour as Ron's hair. She jumped up and hurried over, looking flustered. Harry followed her with his eyes. It was unlike Hermione to be unprepared for attendance.

He glanced away just as Ms. Riley continued her lessons. When Hermione returned, she was back to normal, hopping up and down. Like normal, Harry attempted to make himself as small as possible to ensure her flying hands didn't unseat him. He had a close call when Hermione had answered a question about fractions, but otherwise was able to relax a bit. Hermione seemed if anything more agitated than usual, though he thought that Ron's poorly calculated attempt to snatch her paper had contributed to that. He had nearly fallen from his chair.

Lunch came about after maths, but the atmosphere was stifled. Hermione was distant, and for the first time Harry could remember he and Ron couldn't talk about anything, at least nothing that Hermione could hear. Harry instead watched his cousin being brutish. The fat boy was frightened of the six years, but he was as good of a brownnoser as he was a bully, and had a propensity for enforcement that made him a natural.

Harry also looked at Ginny. He didn't know why he did this – she always seemed to be busy doing something – but he had a strange feeling she was watching him when wasn't. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a lunch tray sliding on the table. Ron and Hermione were both staring at the tray. Harry, having not seen the commotion, glanced at them without understanding.

Hermione jumped up and went to throw her milk carton away and Ron grabbed her saltine crackers. Ron leaned in. "I think Hermione's one of us."

Harry gaped. "What? Why do you say that?"

"Earlier, in maths, I snatched for her paper and it blew away."

"That's not unnatural."

"Ok, but just now, when I tried to nick her crackers the tray moved. I think sh-" he stopped abruptly. Hermione had returned. Harry thought that Ron was being overly hopeful. There were a million explanations for why both things happened.

Ron didn't want to give up his hope. He kept away from Hermione, dragging Harry away to point out how the book had mysteriously fallen or how Ms. Riley always looked at Hermione. It seemed all quite unfounded, but Ron was adamant. Harry wanted school to be over – not just because he was tired of what was feeling like an extraordinarily long school day but also because he knew that Ginny would call her brother a prat for him as they walked back.

* * *

When school finally got out, Harry and Ron met up with Ginny and the three walked to the Burrow. Ron began to tell Ginny about his theories. Ginny immediately teased him about Hermione being his girlfriend, and Ron blushed redder than Ginny's scarlet hair.

By the time they were halfway up the hill, Ron had run out of points to make and now was talking Quidditch. The World Cup was the next year, and already teams were scrambling to qualify. Ron was telling Harry about the first cup, with its 700+ fouls. They all laughed when Ron mentioned the near-decapitation. Ginny said that it would be interesting to see what four years of examination of the latest rules (with constant inventions of new magic, the rules were becoming so large that there was an entire profession dedicated to figuring out how to circumvent them) would produce when it came time for the final match. Harry nodded, wondering exactly how a game in which people were attacked by flying cannonballs could be made any more interesting.

The three walked up the steps of the Burrow. Ron opened the door and rushed in. Harry was next, but he held the door open. Ginny, who seemed happier than he remembered ever seeing her, flushed as she walked in. He felt very hot all of a sudden, and walked in after her.

Ron's mother immediately embraced him, sobbing. He apologized profusely and was immediately handed several servings worth of food. The Burrow was noticeably different. There was a clock on the wall which Harry remembered having never worked. He saw that it now had little hands with the names of the Weasley family members on them. Ron and Ginny were at "Home", as was their mother. Bill and Mr. Weasley were at "Work", and the twins, Percy, and Charlie were all at "School". The kitchen also seemed markedly different – Ms. Weasley had a small stick of wood in her hand and was humming as she stirred something on the stove.

The entrance had also been different: a number of portraits, all moving and bustling around in a way that made him a little dizzy, were on the wall, and they occasionally greeted him or the others as they passed.

Harry talked to Ginny for a bit as he ate, not wanting to hear another long-winded explanation from Ron. His friend had gone upstairs, leaving Ginny to explain to Harry excitedly about himself. He was not entirely comfortable with how much Ginny seemed to know about him; he supposed he couldn't be surprised, though. She certainly was proving a much better teacher than Ron. The Daily Prophet – the newspaper with moving pictures that he had seen – was the standard source of news for the wizarding community. The little stick of wood was a wand: the instrument wizards used to do magic. She also explained that the reason he hadn't been allowed in the garden or in the attic or in some of the other rooms was that they would have been very difficult to cover up, especially the garden, which was infested with "gnomes". She was just telling him about how Fred, George, and Charlie regularly flung the little humanoids out of the garden when Ron came running downstairs.

"It's Hermione! She's coming to the house!" he panted.

"How does she know where we live?" asked Ginny, bolting upright to help him take the clock off the wall. Ms. Weasley bustled into the other room, where he could hear her pulling pictures off the wall – the pictures grumbled about being moved. Harry was up as well, grabbing the Daily Prophet and stuffing it where it wouldn't be seen. He didn't know quite what to do, but moved into the entrance and picked up a large number of pictures.

There was a knock on the door. Mrs. Weasley yelled to him "Make sure she doesn't come in!" It would only take about thirty seconds more for them to get all the pictures down and then he could open the door. He stuffed the pictures under the stairs. He had just run out to get more when the door was blasted open. Harry nearly dropped the frames he was holding as he saw Hermione, hair wild and face blotchy, staring at Mrs. Weasley.

The pictures that Mrs. Weasley had been levitating into a pile dropped, inhabitants screeching. Hermione stood in the doorframe as Ron ran in, followed closely by Ginny. Ron moved forward, followed by Harry. Ginny seemed less sure and stayed close behind Harry, watching as Ms. Weasley moved forward with her son.

"I know this looks odd, dear, but please come inside…" Mrs. Weasley said sweetly. Ron moved ahead of her, looking as if he was going to help Hermione stay standing. " 'mione, come on…" he said quietly.

The bushy brown hair, frizzled, framed a face stark white and a little blotchy. Hermione shook slightly in shock before taking a step back. Ron made for her as she looked like she might fall down, but she turned and ran, crying, as his hands grasped thin air.

Harry came up behind Ron, Ginny looking over his shoulder. Ron's mother watched sadly as Hermione went down the lane.

"I told you she was a witch, Harry." Ron muttered, so softly that Harry could barely hear.

"I know, Ron." Harry responded in the silence. "You were right."

Mrs. Weasley pulled the door closed and they all moved to help her put the house back together. Ron seemed pale and shaky.

"What if she doesn't believe us?" he asked Harry.

He tried to be positive, but it was hard. "It's Hermione, Ron. You know how she is. Just give her some time."

**End of Chapter 9**

_I admit that this chapter really doesn't have much new in it, but I felt like I needed to split it up. It's not enough to just have Hermione's perspective, since this is really Harry's story. Plus, most of Chapter 8 is her wondering what they're talking about, so I figured you guys would like to know._

_I'll tell you that the next few chapters are going to be a little short. The next will be Hermione's, and the following will be Dudley's. I contemplated making the second one Ginny's, but I feel like Dudley is underserved in both the books and in fanfiction._

_As always, if something seems off (school-related terminology in particular), don't be afraid to tell me. I'm running off Wikipedia for information. Besides pointing out incorrect details, I love any sort of reviews, and CC is definitely invited. ~ Efendi_

Up Next: Hermione's plans have fallen apart around her, and she cannot accept the truth. Ron and Harry watch their friend suffer without being able to help, and suddenly summer doesn't seem so inviting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Hermione didn't see the boys running after her. That didn't surprise her anymore. She only looked once, and it was enough to know. They weren't going to follow.

Her mind raced so much that it took closing the door to her room and landing on the bed to calm it. She tried to grapple with it: she was not wanted. They wouldn't let her in. They wouldn't talk around her. They wouldn't want her in their lives anymore. Maybe the same could be said of her parents? Who knew? Maybe they would come in, drag her out, and leave her on the street. Who could blame them?

She lay, sniffling, on the bed until her parents came home. She awaited the knock on the door, the soothing words, but they didn't come. Hesitantly, she left the room; she no longer was crying but the redness around her eyes betrayed it.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" her mother asked in slight alarm as she saw Hermione's face. She must have looked a mess.

Not entirely up to the task of talking, Hermione just shook her head. Maybe they didn't know.

"Dear, if somebody hurt you…" her mother started, thinking Hermione had been bullied again.

Looking up, Hermione shook her head again. In barely more than a whisper, she told her mother, "It's not that."

Looking more concerned, Ms. Granger walked over and sat down, beckoning Hermione to sit at their table.

"Do you want me?" Hermione asked.

The look on her mother's face relieved the considerable fear she had accumulated. "Why would you even ask that? Of course we want you!"

"Ok, good." She responded quietly, and walked away. Glad for the lock on the door, she set about thinking some more.

It was a peculiar feeling, this unidentifiable weight in her stomach. She knew there was something that she could not understand; yet it didn't seem to want to identify itself. She racked her memory for what could conjure it up, yet even reviewing how terrible she felt at having been abandoned didn't seem to come to any clues worth utilizing.

It was past her self-set bedtime when she had realized what was bothering her. It was a thought that was so antipodal to all the others in her head that she had not considered it. It was the dim memory of having people want her to stay, to talk. She connected it with the moment at Ron's oddly shaped house.

Had they wanted her? Perhaps they did want to talk. Yet they could just as much want to keep her there so they could wait for the authorities to come. It was too late now, she was certain of it. She felt an icy chill at the thought and wallowed in it, unable to sleep.

When the weight behind her eyelids finally bid her sleep, homework unfinished, it was a very short respite. She had wallowed in the grief all the way into the dream world, and farther. She heard the crack and her eyes shot open. Her windows were covered in tendrils of ice, cracking as it formed in the spring air. The room, the entire house no doubt, was chilly. She was frigid.

This was why she could not talk to them. She was a danger to them. She knew, no matter how much she wanted to ask them to forgive her, that she could not let her friends be hurt.

She remembered her homework, but suddenly it didn't seem as important anymore.

* * *

The next morning brought tired, shadowed eyes, concerned looks, and a lump in her stomach. She set about doing her homework with none of the usual vigour that she prided herself on. It felt unimportant now.

After all, what was she but some freak of nature? She would be studied, she knew, as part of a government program. She had seen enough television to know what kinds of strange projects went on. After all, though the Soviets were opening up their country, according to the papers, there still was the animosity.

She would turn herself in. It seemed like the thing to do, to scream out "Hey! I'm Hermione Granger and I'm a freak of nature!" Not in public of course, but all the same. It was better for everyone.

Except her. That was the empty feeling she had now. Everything that she had worked for: the grades, the community service, the A-level prep, it was all useless. What good was revision now?

She trudged to school even slower than usual. Her shadowed eyes, unkempt clothes, and unmanaged hair provided distance between her and others. She liked it; better to keep them safe.

Without waiting for class to begin, she entered her fifth year class and sat down. Ms. Riley looked over, smiling in the way that made you know she wasn't totally focused on you. "Oh, hello Hermione. Are you feeling alright?" Her focus had evidently shifted towards Hermione.

Hermione nodded, wishing she had remembered to at least make herself look presentable. It was not safe to attract the attention that she was. People asked questions. People got hurt. Looking down at her desk, Hermione cursed herself.

The goose pimples that crawled up the back of her neck heralded a change that only made her feel worse. Her bearing felt different. She had done something to herself, something both terrible and helpful at once. Like when the paper had been filled out.

When class started and Ms. Riley looked over again, she evidently decided it had been a trick of the light, because she smiled again with a little more effort. Hermione sat in her normal seat and waited for the inevitable awkwardness that would follow.

When Harry and Ron entered, she turned away from their seats. Harry attempted to attract their attention, yet she ignored him. _Best to give them the cold shoulder._

Her performance that day was miserable by her standards. While Harry would have said "average" and Ron perhaps even "good", she knew it was miserable. The homework was not up to par, the participation nonexistent, and her arm itched to rise. She suppressed it.

* * *

She maintained this pattern for a week. Harry and Ron stopped attempting to confront her. She had been worried they might get the courage to corner her. She was terribly worried that she might hurt them. Another week passed, and while Hermione's grades normalized and her homework went back to its usual quality, she was reserved and quiet.

It was a rather silly thing to do, she considered, but she focused on revision. There wasn't really a purpose to this, but it was something to do while she built up the necessary courage to turn herself in. It also kept her distracted, kept the thoughts from coming.

By the end of April she had stopped wondering if she could have redeemed herself. Ron and Harry, while casting her occasional glances, no longer seemed to care. She was lost to them, like she wanted to be. Let them forget her so, when the school year ended, she could turn herself in. She had resolved to do it then.

She had no idea what made her so special as to have received this curse, but it did not matter, did it? Certainly they'd find out. Certainly there was no reason to really care.

When she was finally let out of school, she was glad to know that she had completed something. To leave her old life uncompleted would have nagged at her unendingly. She wondered absentmindedly what would have transpired if she had stayed and talked. Probably nothing. That fear on those eyes after…

It hit her. She had been halfway to the police station in town, walking home after her final, silent day of school, when it hit her. It was two things, in fact.

The first was a thing of the past. The thing that happened _before_. The thing that she had not considered, had actually perhaps even blocked out. The stick of wood and the picture frames. Floating. Falling.

The second thing that hit her was a car. She had stopped quite suddenly in the crosswalk of the only major road in town. The car, an ugly grey car which was of the variety that typically could be found in large, "cookie-cutter" neighbourhoods, screeched. She was floating. Floating. Floating longer than seemed possible. Falling. Falling.

**End of Chapter 10**

_All right, so I apologize for how short this chapter is. I have my reasons, namely that Hermione's story up until the end of school is not terribly interesting. It's mostly sulking. As for the car, I admit it's a little cliché, but I think that it provides two things: 1) An injury, for reasons that will become clear later; 2) A way of getting her out of the way for the end-of-school plot. Well, I can't say I'm terribly happy with this chapter (it wasn't exactly the most interesting), but it's a necessary one. I promise the next one, which has Dudley, will be longer by necessity as well as more interesting._

_Thanks to__** DukeByrmin**__, as always, for catching that slip up. As always, I appreciate any review, especially ones with constructive feedback._

Up Next: While on the surface Dudley may not seem as deep as his gullet, he's a feeling person too. His favourite feelings: Rage, Happiness, Victory, and Cake. Plus: How Harry immediately regretted feeling sorry for his cousin.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Hungry.

That's what Dudley Dursley was. He knew this because he had never not been hungry. He had once tried to stuff himself so much that he became full, but had ended up just vomiting. The most interesting thing was that he was still hungry afterwards. A good thing, too, because he had a whole day home sick to eat in.

Dudley also knew that he was angry. This was also a fairly common emotion for him. Anger was something that he was good at, seeing as half his DNA was hard-coded to favour it.

It took Dudley a second to think about why he was both hungry and angry. The hunger was the easy part: he never was full, so he must be hungry. The anger part took a second because he was busy concentrating on eating. It took a lot of effort to not only think but also eat, especially when you were trying to be angry and savour victory.

It came to him then. He was angry, as he often was, because he was not on top. He liked being on top. For one, it meant that whoever was below him was probably screaming in pain, considering that they were being crushed beneath him.

However, he was in the middle. Admittedly, he was a little higher than right in the middle, but he could tell you that no matter where you were, you didn't want to be in the middle. The only thing worse than the middle was the bottom, and it was frightening how easy it was to end up there.

He would soon be on the bottom if he didn't do something about it. While he had significant padding to protect his vitals from whoever was sitting on top of him, it was still unpleasant. Unlike in everything else in his life, Daddy wouldn't be there to buy his way out of it. So Dudley had to do something he did very irregularly: fend for himself.

The best way to do this, Dudley surmised after some difficulty, was to ensure that when the whole tower of people fell apart, he was on the top when it came back together, and his enemies were crushed at the bottom. It got worse the closer you got to the bottom. While he knew it was near impossible to send anyone like Callum Taylor or Ethan Mason to the bottom, he could send them close to it and be satisfied.

For this reason, he was sitting on a boy named Calvin. He didn't really care what Calvin's last name was, only that Calvin was scrawny, eight, and one of his neighbours. It was after school, and barring his homework (which Dudley never did himself), he had nothing much to do. He would have watched his favourite programs, but they weren't on at this hour. His mother was busy pretending to her neighbours that she was better than them, and thus could not entertain him with his favourite pastime: eating. Therefore, he was sitting on Calvin.

Calvin screamed for mercy, but Dudley was too busy eating Calvin's lunch. Not that he'd provide until Calvin accepted this. It was natural. If Dudley had known the first thing about science, he could say that a wonderfully smart bloke named Darwin had said this was natural. Dudley didn't, but he didn't really care either. Darwin, in his mind, would have been one of Calvin's types. Not worth the effort.

One of his 'friends' (he used the term loosely, because it simply implied that he and the boy had the understanding that Dudley was the superior) waved to him from across the playground, and Dudley nodded to him. The boy loped over, shorter by a head than Dudley but of a similar stature. Dominic Milles was one of Dudley's better 'friends', one of the pack of boys that Dudley had assembled around him in replacement for his old 'friends'.

" 'lo". Dominic said, sitting on the part of Calvin that Dudley didn't occupy. There wasn't much, so it was the poor boy's head.

" 'lo" Dudley said between bites. Dominic knew not to try to take any of the food Dudley had acquired, so the two just stared at the ground.

"I beat up some scrawny paki kid today." Dominic said nonchalantly.

Dudley made a sound with the food in his mouth that indicated Dominic should elaborate.

" 'is name was summun stupid like Abhra. Honestly, mate, Abhra? So I told 'im, 'you a bloke, paki? Yer name sounds like a little girl's!' "

Dudley laughed with his 'friend'.

"I'm telling you," grinned Dominic, "these bloody pakis are everywhere! I swear every other person I see is called something like 'Abra-ka-davra!'" He snorted.

The boy Calvin, his face pressed into the wood chips, seemed to be asphyxiating. He kept touching Dudley, trying to get him to get off. Judging that he had learned his lesson, Dudley got off the boy. Dominic followed, and Calvin gasped in a breath.

"I reckon you've learned your lesson, eh?" Dudley said, bending on his knees as much as he could to look at the spluttering, red-faced boy. "Next time we will be giving our superiors our lunches, eh?"

"Y-yes!" gasped the boy, who seemed to have soiled himself. Dudley threw the crust of his sandwich at him and walked off, laughing.

* * *

Beating up on Calvin…he swore his surname was something like Mallard…reminded him of better days. He knew that if he kept working he would achieve them again, but it would be a hollow victory. After all, he would be at Smeltings the year after this, and it would be another battle. At least he knew his 'friends' from Privet Drive would be there, waiting for him to come back and take control.

He spied his cousin coming down the road. Beating up on Harry was a rare pleasure. He couldn't do it during school, because it seemed that his sable-haired cousin was always in the company of his friends. It was hard to beat up someone when you didn't have a posse to back you up.

Harry spotted Dudley quickly. It wasn't hard; after all, he was quite massive. Dudley had never tried running, but judged that he wasn't good at it. So he just loped towards him, taking his time. He was beginning to think that giving Dominic a knock on the head and sending him, cursing fluently, on his way had been a mistake. Dominic would hold Harry down.

Dudley picked up a rock and threw it at Harry. The rock hit his cousin's forehead and Dudley barked with laughter. Harry walked quickly on. Dudley moved towards him, but his cousin broke into a run. _Damn. He used to be slow…what with not being fed._

Dudley hadn't given much thought to how Harry had been treated before their move. It was something he didn't really care about; he had been treated quite well. He had made sure that Harry was healthy enough to continue cooking (his mother was not very good at anything more advanced than take-out), but kept the "freak" properly subdued. Daddy would always give him a pat on the back, laughing.

Running a hand through his bowl-cut blond hair, which was dripping with sweat from his exertion, Dudley followed Harry back to their house. Harry was bleeding, the blood running down his forehead. He glared daggers at Dudley, who only laughed. There was a lot of bloody, Dudley thought. _A good throw._

Or was it? Dudley considered this. It took a while. He wasn't sure whether it was quite a good thing that Harry seemed to be bleeding profusely. After all, he did cook for the family. If Dudley put him in the hospital…he would probably be taken away. Then what? As much as Dudley liked grease and fat, the local food selection was pretty stark. While his family could always go to the chippy, it got dull once in a while.

The thought of food made him feel hungrier. He moved to the fridge and looked inside. The shelves were covered in cans of his father's beer, soft drinks, milk, and juice. The vegetable drawer was filled with sweets, the fruit drawer with leftover desserts. He snatched one of the cans of Coke that lined the front of the fridge and drank it in two or three sips. Still unsatisfied, he went for a Cadbury chocolate bar.

For the moment content, Dudley tried to remember what he had been thinking about. Whatever it was, it must not have been very important.

He lumbered outside again, into the setting sun. He remembered that today was the last day of school. He was surprised he hadn't thought about that. He supposed, considering he didn't actually pay attention, that it wasn't terribly surprising after all, but all the same, the notion of summer elated him. Next year, he'd be at the top. He'd languished at underling status all this year, but with his 'friends' in his pocket and those who had previously been in charge gone off to secondary school, it was his time.

He sat down thickly and thought. He found it easiest to think when he didn't need to concentrate on walking.

He admitted it to himself then. He was scared. He was absolutely frightened. What if he didn't make it? What if this stupid vacation to Spain would mess up his plans?

Dudley was not a terribly emotive person, but he knew what fear felt like. Fear was the emotion that prompted anger. When he was fearful, he lashed out. He had been scared of the other kids, of his cousin, so he had bullied them. He had to admit that he was absolutely mortified about this. After all, he was not Dominic, short but strong, or Ivan Fitzpatrick, already tall. He was Dudley Dursley, 'big boned' and heavy. He dominated through his size…which also made him very fearful. He never confronted anything that could really fight back. Could he do it?

* * *

A car drove up, his father's. The erratic way that Vernon Dursley drove was quite in contrast to the airs he put on to impress the neighbours. His mother walked over to greet her husband, who lumbered heavily from the car. The ugly, boxy grey car sagged, sounding grateful that the massive weight had been removed from it.

"Petunia…" Vernon Dursley said with a hint of fear that Dudley had only heard once before – when Harry had mentioned flying motorbikes.

"What is it, Vernon?" his mother asked, her bony, elongated features filled with the look she had whenever worried her neighbours might be gossiping about her.

Vernon Dursley was quite red in the face. He was sweating. "I…I hit someone."

Petunia looked shocked, and hurried her husband inside.

Dudley followed, hearing his mother close all the windows in case someone was listening.

"I was driving…" panted Vernon, looking paler now "and this girl Dudley's age walked out into the crosswalk and just stood there! I couldn't stop in time!"

Petunia patted her husband's back. She looked at Harry, who had entered, as Dudley did, at the sound of them talking. "Get him a beer, boy!"

Vernon looked like he might cry. "She went flying, Petunia..."

"What are you talking about, Vernon?" his mother asked her husband.

"She was thrown a good three metres…and then she fell and sort of bounced."

Petunia gasped. "What did you do after that?"

"I…I…" he gulped. "I just sat there, unable to move. People were running…they said she was breathing…everyone said it was a miracle..."

Petunia looked stunned. "She's alright, then?"

"Oh…yes." Vernon said. "They took her to the hospital. Said her rucksack had a bunch of books in it…and they must have cushioned her fall…but they'd never seen anything like it."

Dudley didn't know what to say. He didn't really understand. He kept watching. Harry came back in with a porter in the bottle. Vernon took it and actually thanked Dudley's cousin.

"Did they say what her name was?" Petunia asked. Dudley knew she was worried it might have been one of their neighbours.

"Oh…yes…the dentists." Vernon said, sipping. When his wife's eyebrows rose, he elaborated. "The Grangers…the dentists…it was their girl."

Harry shifted, seeming to go quite still. Dudley recognized the name. His mother turned to him.

"She's in your class, isn't she, Dudders?"

Dudley nodded.

Petunia rose up from her husband and stared sternly at Harry. "Alright, boy…your uncle needs some dinner in him. Chop, chop."

Harry looked very pale, and jumped. Like a zombie in one of Dudley's favourite video games, he moved towards the kitchen. Dudley made to follow, for no reason he could really understand, but his mother stopped him.

"What's wrong with your cousin, Dudders?" she asked.

Dudley thought about this for a second. "That Granger girl…she's one of his friends."

His mother got a strange look on her face, but it resolved back into a stiff line. She moved over to sit by her husband.

Dudley sat on the other chair, giving them a wide berth. He decided to think. He was going to Spain in a few days. His cousin would be left behind, of course. No reason to bring him along on a "Dursley Vacation".

His father had been positively jumping out of his chair to tell them. He had been assigned to woo a Spanish building company into working with Grunnings. This meant he needed to meet with them in their native country. He was so excited that he had begun learning Spanish for the occasion. Dudley could hear his father's voice repeating the words his cassette was teaching him. He also remembered a dinner in which his father had insisted on speaking Spanish, to the effect that no one could understand a word he said. Dudley had been utterly bewildered when asked to "pasar" something or "Hableh cone too pahdray". Dudley had no idea what it meant to but he was fairly certain no one in Spain would either.

He looked over at his father, who seemed to have recovered. "Daddy…what does Hableh cone too pahdray mean?"

"Well, Dudley, it means 'talk with your father'. I know it won't be much use when I'm talking to those Spaniards, but I'll tell them 'Eztoi alegrow day kay oosteades trahbajarahan pahra me.'" He gave a chuckle. "It means 'I'm happy that you will work with me.' Don't need to be using too much of it…but we don't want them cheating us."

Dudley nodded, not understanding a word. He sat back. He wondered if his father would buy him a bull in Spain. He knew that the Spanish killed bulls…but he would ride it. He was just giving this a lot of thought when the smell of burning food came from the kitchen.

**End of Chapter 11**

_Alright. Dudley turned out to be rather dull to write about. All the same, I do think he was a good character to introduce the next plot part: the vacation. Plus, I got to put some Spanish in, which I always like. I admit it's not that funny, but when Vernon says "Estoy allegro de que ustedes trabajaran para me", he's saying 'I'm happy that you'll be working for me.'. Yeah. It's lame. I know. I just felt like putting something in Spanish to characterize just how bone-headed Vernon Dursley can be. I feel so sorry for the Spaniards, having to listen to him butcher their language. As for the use of the word 'pakis', I apologize if I offended anyone, but I imagined that Dominic is the son of one of those racist Britons.  
_

_Just to clear some things up as to why updates have slowed, I've run out of pre-written content and out of the stuff I wrote while publishing the aforementioned. As such, it takes me a bit of time to write this and I can't do it every day. So I'd expect maybe every two days at best. ~ Efendi_

Coming Up Next: The Dursleys prepare to leave for Spain to offend the locals/take a vacation. Harry encounters a slight problem involving food, and Vernon's vein transcends new levels of prominence on his forehead when someone has a slip-up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Harry walked up to his bedroom, feeling numb. The Dursleys had given him odd looks all night, and he was tired of the staring. It was bad enough that one of his best friends might be dying in some Muggle hospital. He had heard enough from Ron to know that compared to the cutting and stitching he associated with medicine, the ways of wizards were significantly better.

He sat on the bed in the tiny room for a long while. He didn't have anything else to do. He couldn't talk to anyone. It was just him and his thoughts.

The door to the closet opened and his Aunt came in. She had a strange look on her face, like she was not used to using this expression and it hurt a little to attempt it. The expression was a sort of pitying one, the kind you gave when you were talking to someone about bad news.

"B-Harry." She said, deciding evidently that for once she could use his actual name. "I assume you'll be wanting to see this Granger girl, then?"

Harry was so surprised he didn't respond for a second. He nodded.

"Ok." Aunt Petunia said quietly. "I suppose Vernon owes it to the Grangers to see her. Especially since you're a friend."

Harry didn't answer. He recognized what this was. His Aunt couldn't allow herself to do anything for him alone. She was feeling a tiny bit of pity for him and trying to justify the complicated emotions with something else. He didn't care. He just wanted to see Hermione.

* * *

As it happened, the Dursleys brought him to the hospital the next day. It was not a very fancy place, as the area was not prosperous. It had a distinct quality in the off-white tiling that reminded a little too much of a mental hospital. It seemed like it could do with some colour to distract from the thought that it would be very easy to clean blood off tiles.

The room that Hermione lay in was equally stark and small. It had a number of complicated machines. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were in the room, as were the Weasleys…only barely able to fit. Vernon seemed flustered and offered an apology that lacked a certain quality of truthfulness. Seeing as his and his son's bulk would not permit easy entry, Vernon stayed outside. Petunia, feeling distinctly awkward, followed suit.

Hermione was bandaged and heavily bruised, but otherwise seemed surprisingly unharmed for someone who had suffered what she had. Mr. Weasley could not help glancing at all the machinery around him, while Mrs. Weasley commiserated with Hermione's parents. Ron just stared at her, not speaking. He didn't seem capable of moving from where he was. As he stood there, Ginny moved almost imperceptibly closer towards him. He didn't mind, and if he had, he didn't think he had the feeling in his limbs to move away.

"Why…" Ron said so softly that it was barely audible. "Why is she here?"

Both of his parents looked surprised at the question. His mother put a hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean, Ron?"

"Wh-why isn't she somewhere better?" he asked, unable evidently to censor himself. "Like St. Mungos?"

The Grangers looked at the Weasleys very oddly. Mr. Weasley had torn his eyes away from the machines to move over to his son. "Because she's fine here."

Mr. Granger, sounding hoarse and looking like he hoped he was not in the midst of some joke at his expense, asked the question that had been floating perceptibly in both his and his wife's minds. "What's St. Mungos?"

Mrs. Weasley seemed to decide, perhaps due to the look on Mrs. Granger's face, that honesty was the best policy. "This is perhaps the worst time to tell you this…" she began hesitantly. "but we think that your daughter is special."

Feeling that the Weasleys should have broached the subject differently, Harry watched the lack of understanding on the Grangers' faces.

"What my wife means," Arthur Weasley added, "is that your daughter has demonstrated certain talents that make her different from normal people."

There was even more misunderstanding. Mr. Granger spoke up. "I'm afraid I don't understand you…our Hermione has never shown any signs of being abnormal. I don't think…"

Ron didn't seem to be able to keep himself quiet. "What my parents mean is that Hermione can do magic." Harry thought Ron not only had probably created infinitely more complex questions that would need to be answered, but also was being rather loud.

The Dursleys seemed to agree. Harry noticed Aunt Petunia in her favoured position, listening by the door, just as she gave a slight but audible gasp. The mass of Vernon was such that the whole room heard Harry's uncle get up and push open the door.

"What is this I'm hearing? I heard you talking about magic!" he roared with such ferocity that both the Weasleys and the Grangers shrunk back in alarm. "There's no such thing as bloody magic!"

He grabbed Harry, dragging him bodily from the room. Ginny nearly tripped, as she had grabbed onto him in alarm. With the stares of the entire hospital following them, the Dursleys pushed out of the room. It was only at the car that Harry was finally let go of, but that was only to be thrown into the backseat.

"Look, boy…" Vernon said, the vein in his temple bulging. "I don't know what those red-haired nuts have been telling you, but there is no such thing as magic! They're filling your head with lies!"

Harry realized that the Dursleys had no idea how much Harry knew about the wizarding world. They were frightened of him, that much was clear.

Harry was immediately sent, or rather flung into his closet. He heard few sounds, though he thought he recognized the sound of a sweets wrapper being pulled apart on the stairs. At dinner, his uncle opened the door and half-handed, half-threw a plate with a slightly burnt piece of fish on it at him. He ate it all the same, ignoring the fact that his Aunt hadn't properly cooked it.

That night, he heard his Aunt and Uncle talking rather loudly, a sound that carried over the loud noise of Dudley's drum set. Though Harry had no way of judging time in his closet, at some point in the night Dudley did something to the drums that made one of them not work. _Probably sat on it._

When Harry awoke groggily in the morning, it was to find his Uncle's ugly face pulling him out of his bed. "Look, boy…I know you were going to be at those Weasleys while we were gone," he snarled, looking displeased.

In truth, the Weasleys were going with the second-eldest brother, Charlie, to Romania, and thus would not have been around. Harry had not told the Dursleys that. He had hoped that he might be able to have some food left for him, but it was out of the question now.

"But you're staying here. It will be a week and a half. We'll be leaving food, but under no circumstances will you be leaving the house, understand?"

Harry nodded, too groggy to really understand.

"Good." Vernon said. He shoved Harry back onto the bed after thrusting a plate with a limp, cold sausage on it into his hands. He slammed the door.

* * *

The next three days were almost the same. Petunia seemed if anything to worsen in her attempts to cook. Harry had needed to avoid her attempt at pork chops, as it was so rare that it might as well have been straight from the pig.

When it finally came time for the Dursleys to leave, Harry was given a cup of tea and shut in the closet until they left. He waited patiently, knowing that they'd have to open the closet eventually. He heard bags being pulled down and people talking. Then the door opening and closing. It didn't open again.

Harry panicked. They had forgotten about letting him out. They were leaving him in a locked closet with no food or water for a week and a half. He prayed that one of them, maybe Aunt Petunia, would remember. He waited the whole afternoon for some sign. It never came.

He fell asleep, stomach growling. He was going to die in here. He knew he was going to die. The Dursley's neglect had never been truly life threatening before, but it had been close. This went over a long way. When he woke up, hoping it had been a dream, he was just greeted with a new sensation. It wasn't hunger anymore. Just the barely perceptible gnawing in his stomach. He lay, feeling helpless, praying that someone, maybe one of the Weasleys, maybe this "Dumbledore" that they talked about, would save him. By that afternoon, he had given up hope of rescue. It was about that time when he remembered. He remembered that he, Harry Potter, was a wizard. He had defeated the most powerful dark wizard known to his kind at the age of one. He could open this door.

He concentrated hard, imagining the lock clicking open. Nothing happened. He concentrated harder. Harder. He stared at it until his body felt dead from the strain. He felt too weak to do anything anymore. Oddly enough, this weakness gave him a sort of strength. He jumped up and began to pound on the door, sobbing. He did not want to die. He wanted to be a wizard. He wanted to be able to escape.

With that, his fist came down again…and the door was blasted open in the same way that Hermione had opened the Weasleys' door. Panting and falling to the ground, Harry dropped out of it. He moved downstairs weakly…and his empty stomach sagged further. Whatever Vernon Dursley had said, the food had vanished. Harry had a sick feeling that his cousin had gotten to it.

Hope draining, Harry collapsed in a chair. There was no money to order takeout or buy food at a store. There didn't appear to be anything palatable in the house, which shocked him. Surely Dudley hadn't gotten to the entire pantry.

Feeling if anything even weaker, Harry slumped further into the hard couch. Finally, he decided that he needed to leave the house to find food. Opening the door, he moved out and walked down the street. Every step hurt. He knew that he needed to get to the Burrow. That was the only thing that kept him going. He hadn't eaten very well for the last five days, and he could feel it.

It was a miracle that he reached the tower-like structure without collapsing. His body certainly felt like it might fall apart.

He opened the door, finding it invitingly unlocked. The empty house was odd without the constant movement of the Weasleys. They must have only left this morning, but already their absence could be noted in the stillness of the air. Harry made for the kitchen. He had no idea where he might find food (the Weasleys didn't appear to have a refrigerator) but he felt it was the best place to find it.

Harry's heart skipped a beat as he saw the empty counter. There was a note, but nothing else.

_Dear Harry,_

_ If you're reading this, then we assume the Muggles have either let you out or you got out on your own. We were worried they might take what they heard badly, so we just want to let you know that we have sent an owl to Dumbledore about it. We wish we could have made sure you were all right, but hopefully you can find a way to keep yourself fed. If you need something to eat, we've left some food for you by the oven._

_Love, the Weasleys_

Harry looked up. To his surprise, he was suddenly looking at a massive amount of food where before the counters had been scarce. He guessed it must be some sort of spell. Too hungry to think any further, Harry made for the sandwiches piled high on a plate.

He could not remember a time when food had tasted so good.

**End of Chapter 12**

_I really wanted Harry to be left alone to starve in the house. I just felt that it was a very good situation to place him in, because he would naturally escape from it using magic. I can understand if you have objections, especially about the plausibility of there being no food in the Dursleys' house, but I felt that going to the Weasleys' house was an important thing that needed to be done._

_I won't bore you guys with the entirety of his summer, since after this it becomes fairly mundane. Since the Dursleys won't let him leave the house, don't expect a terrible number of escapades, though I can say there will be a visitor to the Dursley house. Those events that do have merit will be summarized at the beginning._

_In response to __**DukeBrymin**__: I was talking about mercy. It says that Calvin "screamed for mercy, but Dudley was too busy eating Calvin's lunch". Then I said that he wouldn't get off of him until Calvin accepted that Dudley was bigger and more important than him. I admit it's worded poorly, so that's my fault. Anywho, as I say all the time: there is no such thing as a bad review. I should warn you guys that I've been facing a little bit of writer's block now that the central plotlines have all been nicely put together, so I'm sorry if there's a shift in the quality of each chapter. I wish I had the time to spent two or three days proofreading each one, but I don't._

Up Next: The Dursleys receive a very interesting visitor, Hermione and Ginny find something they agree on, Harry suffers a very dull summer, and Dudley won't accept losing easily.


End file.
